


Where The Time Goes: Volume One

by fernhill



Series: Where The Time Goes [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Eventual Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, F/M, Gen, Hogwarts First Year, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Like Eighty-Five Percent Canon Compliant, Lupin Family, M/M, MWPP, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), Mostly Canon Compliant, Remus Lupin & James Potter Friendship, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, early marauders era, semi-graphic description of injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-27 03:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 87,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30116307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fernhill/pseuds/fernhill
Summary: The facts about James Potter, aged eleven, are simple and soon-stated.He knew everything there was to know about Cursebreakers, quidditch, and making mischief. He had deep dimples and a recently deceased godfather.He was going to be in Gryffindor House and he didn’t want to share a room with a Death Eater.He changed Remus Lupin’s life in every possible way.This author does not support J.K. Rowling or her bigotry in any form.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Remus Lupin & James Potter, Remus Lupin & Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Where The Time Goes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2216181
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is the first installment of nine covering 1971 through 1981 from Remus' perspective. The primary focus is the Marauders' friendship, particularly Remus and James', but wolfstar and jily will get together in later installments.  
> As stated in the summary, I do not support or agree with any of J.K.R.'s bigoted politics. Kudos/Comments are greatly appreciated. Let me know if there's any issues in formatting, especially if anyone is using text-to-speech and the current format makes that difficult.
> 
> <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer ‘71: A death, a visit, a disagreement.

**_From the Daily Prophet, 31 May, 1971_ **

_ It is with great sadness that those close to Mr Roscoe John Lupin announce his passing on the morning of May 29th, 1971 at the age of 62. Lupin passed away in St. Mungo’s hospital after a three-year battle with liver failure. He is survived by his son Lyall Lupin, grandson Remus Lupin, and godson James Potter.  _

_ A true Ravenclaw at heart, Roscoe Lupin’s life was an endless search for knowledge. As a freelance journalist and former employee of the Ministry’s research committee, his work was published in over seventy publications and academic journals. At the astonishing age of 16, he published his first short story, ‘ _ **_The Ones in the Wall_ ** _ ’ in the Daily Prophet, garnering international acclaim from critics and readers alike. More than that, Roscoe was an excellent Gobstones player and a lover of vegetarian Shepherd’s Pie. He was a talented trumpeter and an even better friend.  _

_ The funeral service will be held at St. Jerome’s Church in Godric’s Hollow at 12 pm 12th June, 1971.  _

*

**_Sunday, 13 June, 1971_ **

The whole cottage rattled with the slam of the door. Hope Lupin had grown up here, when it had a thatch roof and the cellar was full of milk jugs, when she was still Hope Howell. Some twenty years had passed since she left but she still forgot to close the front door gently. She let out a string of swears, some in Welsh, some in English. Her husband did not have the energy nor the presence of mind to find it endearing this time.

She set her guitar case down by the gramophone, wincing at the sound of it hitting the floor, a hollow thud and the twangy sound of strings falling out of tune. Lyall’s heavy footsteps echoed against the stone as he shuffled into the kitchen. The old dress robes barely clung to his skinny, hunched frame. He had eaten little more than a slice of cold bread all day, a bad example for their son, whose appetite was as fickle as his health.

Outside Remus’ bedroom window, the only one in the house that opened and closed properly, the sky was the colour of bruises. A scattering of stars peeked through the thin covering of clouds. Tomorrow they would arrive in clumps of thick grey, pelting the countryside with rain. It would smell of damp soil and honeysuckle blooms for days.

Remus flinched at the sound of the door, hobbling out of bed to greet his parents. The day had been spent blaring Beatles and Fairport Convention records as loud as the old gramophone would allow. It was the first time he’d had the house to himself in years, perhaps the first time ever.

With one arm over the crutch and one hand on the railing, he took the stairs slowly. The old, warped wood creaked mournfully with each step, as though an eleven year old boy with an injured ankle was simply too much weight to bear. 

‘Remus!’ his mother exclaimed, rushing over to help him down the final step. He waved her away with his free hand.

‘I'm alright, I've got it.’

She frowned, shallow lines forming at the corners of her pale eyes and thin mouth. The yellow and blue glass of the Tiffany lamp in the corner of the room painted soft colours on the dull blonde of her hair, catching the few grey strands, glinting green in the light. 

‘How was it?’ Remus asked, voice hoarse after a day spent singing and screaming song lyrics to an empty house in fits of joy and freedom. Hope’s face softened, and he knew that she heard the way he croaked the words out and assumed the worst. 

‘It was just fine, love. Tea?’ Her hand rested on his forearm, guiding him to the kitchen. 

His father was bent over the cooker, cursing at the dials when the gas clicked but no flame followed. He had yet to notice Remus sitting behind him at the table, watching him with wide green eyes, the same dark, almost hazel shade of his own. 

‘I’ll get it, love,’ Hope said gently, laying one hand over his and the other on his shoulder. ‘It’s right in between the first notch and…’

‘I should…’ Lyall said, his voice just as hoarse as his son’s but for an entirely different reason. ‘I should fix it.’

He pulled out the chair across from Remus, not so much sitting as collapsing into it. His funny tie was undone. The thin, burgundy fabric hung limply around his neck, damp with sweat or rainwater. An ascot, he had called it this morning as he fidgeted in the mirror while Remus asked him rapidfire questions about why wizards wore such ridiculous clothes to funerals. 

‘I suppose you’ll need dress robes at some point now that-well-’ he had said, trailing off and gesturing to the window like Dumbledore’s next owl would arrive at any moment. 

Lyall was absent-minded like that, with his downturned eyes perpetually glazed over in introspection or skimming through pages. Hope once told Remus that his head was full of so many thoughts that he could never finish one before starting the next.

‘Fleamont’s boy is quite the handful,’ she said now, fishing a cigarette out of her handbag while the kettle boiled. ‘Nearly tipped the coffin over running around the church.’

Remus didn’t know what to say to that. He hadn’t met Fleamont Potter or his son and knew of them only through letters he’d read by accident. He stayed silent, waiting for his father to lift his eyes from the scratches on the old table and face him. Instead, Lyall traced them with a gnarled finger. Remus shuddered at the sound of his fingernails scraping against the wood. 

The water boiled and Remus’ hands came to cover his ears, protecting them from the piercing shriek of the kettle. His father looked up at him now, sharp eyes darting to Hope in wordless frustration. She was not the one who normally made the tea and forgot all too often how disorienting the sound was to her son’s heightened hearing. 

‘I’m alright,’ Remus said, breaking the silence. His mother took a particularly long drag off her cigarette and exhaled a thin stream of smoke out the window. 

‘You wouldn’t have liked it anyway,’ Lyall croaked out eventually, forcing a smile that only exacerbated Remus’ concern. His teeth were tea-stained and crooked, lips dry and cracked. The skin around his puffy eyes crinkled with the gesture, folding along shallow wrinkles. 

‘I know,’ Remus replied, feeling guilty for revelling in the empty house while his father buried his father. But perhaps that was his parents’ fault for not allowing him to come with. 

Their grip had tightened around him since the Hogwarts letter and Dumbledore’s visit. His mother hugged him tighter and changed the bandages on his ankle too frequently. She brought him too many mugs of tea and kissed the crown of his head every time she passed him. His father showered him with books they were running out of time to discuss, played him more records than he could remember and sat outside his bedroom door until he heard his breathing steady. 

Hope made Remus a mug of tea, despite the fact that he was only eleven and it was one in the morning. She didn’t believe that black tea contained caffeine and normally, Lyall would ask if her nursing colleagues shared that sentiment. He drank it slowly, wishing he was allowed a biscuit or a piece of chocolate but Hope was still afraid he wouldn’t be able to keep it down. 

There was no more conversation after that. Lyall too haggard and drained, Remus too nervous. Hope shook with nerves and normally, Lyall would make a joke about the merits of tobacco and tea as a flavour combination. But it was not a normal day. 

They both helped Remus up the stairs and into his bed. Despite the sweltering heat of the summer night, they tucked him in under the duvet and each pressed a kiss to his brow. Eventually he knew this would be embarrassing but for now it was something his parents needed. 

Soon they would have to buy books and uniforms somehow, and Lyall would have to drive him into London. Soon a train would take him to Scotland and his parents would be alone in the old cottage. 

Its walls were thin and it was a miracle that the plaster had not surrendered under a century’s worth of wallpaper. Remus was grateful for the shortcomings of nineteenth century construction as he listened to his mother in the next room over, singing softly to her grieving husband. 

_ Paham mae dicter, O Myfanwy _

_ Yn llenwi’th lygaid duon di? _

Her voice was gentle and lilting in its Welsh cadence. Remus recognised the song from past nights when Lyall grew distant and hunched over, from the few times they’d gone to the muggle church in town. He knew it well enough to hum along with her into the darkness, but the words never sat right in mouth. Mother tongues were fickle like that. You could grow up hearing them spoken and sung, learn a few phrases, but never understand it the way you should. Never enough to feel as though it is a part of you too. 

*

**_Monday, 28 June, 1971_ **

The owls came by the dozen in the weeks following the funeral. Remus’ mother, who adamantly wanted nothing to do with any of “this backwards wizard business”, had taken to swatting at the birds with a broom whenever they came by. It was an act Remus rather enjoyed watching from the window, silently cheering on the birds sometimes (not that they ever stood a chance).

‘They’re getting too close to the clothesline, Ly. I can’t be having that, I just can’t.’ She swore, coming back in with a stack of letters and an accomplished look on her face. 

‘They won’t mess with the washing, dear. They have jobs,’ Lyall smiled up at her as she handed him the stack. 

A few were from Dumbledore, regarding the Lupins’ decision to let their son attend Hogwarts. The vast majority were regarding the last will and testament of one Roscoe Lupin. 

He’d left all his possessions to his only son, Lyall, but said nothing of the money, save for a special clause at the bottom of the parchment that prohibited one Remus Lupin from accessing any of his grandfather’s wealth. 

Lyall read through the first letter and Remus watched the exact moment his father’s day went from good to bad. And then bad to worse. Hope hovered at his shoulder, expressions growing darker as she read on. 

‘Remus, love, d’you think you should get some fresh air today? Weather’s lovely, so it is.’

‘Alright then,’ Remus slid out of the kitchen table and took his book out into the garden, where they knew he’d still hear just about everything. 

These were the types of conversations Remus was especially prohibited from listening in on: ones where his mother put on the loudest record they had (it was  _ Sgt. Pepper’s  _ which wasn’t nearly as loud as Hope thought), the ones they would go into the study for, and the ones Remus would sit under the study’s permanently cracked window for. 

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Hope hissed, ‘It’s not like there's any wealth to be collected. You said the bank was empty.’

‘Fleamont’s trying to sort it out...you know how he felt about banks.’ Lyall’s voice was weary as ever. Remus didn’t need to see his father to know he was rubbing at his temples. 

‘Did he say anything of the royalties? Or- or the manuscripts?

‘I don’t know, I didn’t ask. I don’t know if  _ I  _ want to know, to deal with that. We should focus on all of the shit we have to sort through before Remus is off to school. The rest doesn’t matter.’

‘Don’t tell me “it doesn’t matter,” she snapped. ‘Your father disinherited our son from his nonexistent fortune. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’

'It  _ doesn’t  _ matter, Hope. You know how he felt. He made it quite clear that we weren’t a part of his family anymore. You should’ve expected this.'

On the gramophone, Remus could make out the vague lyrics of “When I’m Sixty-Four” resounding through the house. He wondered if his parents saw the irony of it all, or if they were too wrapped in up the argument to pay attention. 

'But he  _ didn’t _ . He wrote to you on Christmas that one year. He-he sent that photograph and-'

'He wanted to be rid of it. He wanted to be rid of  _ me.  _ The letter wasn’t about reconciliation and you know that. I won’t waste any more time on him. He put me through hell and back. And you know what? I'm happy he’s gone.'

He let out a bark of dry laughter. Remus flinched at the unexpected sound. 

'Lyall!' His mother exclaimed, hurt and disbelief marking her voice.

'I can and I will speak ill of the dead.' His voice sombered. Remus pictured him pinching the bridge of his nose. 'I refuse to forgive him just because he drank himself to death. I won’t drown myself thinking of the things I could’ve said. I’m allowed to hate him, I am.' 

He sounded more as though he were trying to convince himself than Hope. 

‘He’s Fleamont’s problem now. He’s always been Fleamont’s problem.’

'How can you say that? He’s your father and he was ill...he wasn’t all there anymore. You can’t blame him, he didn’t know what he was saying…'

_ Will you still need me, will you still feed me _

_ When I'm sixty-four _

'He was never there! In any context, in any sense of the word! The only time he bothered with me was when he-’

A strangled choking noise escaped Lyall’s throat, a sign Remus recognised as him trying not to yell, or trying not to cry. The two things were intermingled in his father’s mind, anger and sadness, love and abandonment. He wouldn’t understand why or how that came to be until he was much older, when he too knew what it was to be stung and betrayed by false promises.

‘Look, I know he was a troubled man, I do. But I was his son. That should’ve meant something more to him, right? He should’ve reached out to me. He’s the one who owed an apology. If he wasn’t willing to do that then obviously he didn’t really want to see me.'

_ You'll be older too _

_ And if you say the word _

_ I could stay with you _

'But you didn't try at all. Either of you. And you’re just like him--it’s like you get off on the anger. You have to have something to hate or else-or else you’ll go mad.' Hope huffed, nearly letting her voice rise to a shout. Remus heard her exhale sharply before adding, 'Or waste away in the house all day.'

Remus vaguely understood that his father became somewhat of a hermit when he was bitten. He quit his Ministry job to homeschool Remus, gave up most magic to live a quiet muggle life with his wife and son. The funeral marked the first and only time he showed his face in the wizarding world in nearly six years. 

That would change in September, of course, when Remus started Hogwarts. 

Someone slammed the door, rattling the whole cottage. The record skipped back to the start of the song. The sound immediately warped as the gramophone was shut off. Apparently, they did see the irony.

*

**_Friday, 23 July, 1971_ **

The robes hung off Remus’ small frame. The fabric slipped off his shoulders as his mother struggled to pin it in place. His father’s trunk, a dusty and well worn leather, lay at Remus’ feet. It was full of old sketches and photographs, random keepsakes Lyall had accumulated during his time at Hogwarts. His old robes were full of holes and the bottom was stiff with caked mud. The photos--moving wizard photographs capturing moments in time--showed his father laughing with another boy, chasing after an owl, and asleep in a large library with an open book on his chest. Remus wondered where the other boy was now, if his father ever spoke to him. 

In each of those photos, the top two buttons of Lyall’s shirt were undone, his hair on the messier side, his smile on the wider. His eyes were wide and manic, in spite of the dark circles beneath them. He was uninhibited, without the sloping shoulders and bowed head that had become so characteristic. Remus couldn’t help but feel envious (and hopeful). Silently, he undid his top two buttons and tried to straighten his posture. 

He squinted at his reflection and tried to see himself for the first time. He tried to see himself as the other students would. Sure, he was small and scrawny. He was on the shorter side, the blander side. His hair was an indistinct shade brown, with little S-shaped waves hanging over his forehead, curling at the base of his neck. It wasn’t awful. The robes were big, but they covered up most of the scars. And without the scars, Remus only looked a little ill. 

Lyall hovered in the door frame with an unreadable expression on his face as he watched his wife pin the old robes onto their son. All he could focus on was the jagged scar at the base of Remus’ neck peeking out from beneath the fabric. 

In the mirror, Remus saw him grimace, and his hands came to fasten the last two buttons. It was an old scar, so old Remus couldn't recall exactly when he got it. He knew it was one of the first ones, from back when they lived in Surrey. His father could name the exact date he got it and where they went to get it stitched up. His father looked at him and saw the wounds beneath every scar, saw the wolf beneath the boy. 

The collar was tight, but mild discomfort was a small price to pay.

'They’re a bit too long,' his mother said as she pulled the robes from his shoulders, 'but that’s probably for the best.'

More fabric to cover up the scars, Remus figured, avoiding his father’s guilty eyes. As per Dumbledore’s instructions, Remus would tell the other students that his mother was ill with some sort of blood disorder. He’d have to visit her every month. The Headmaster said only a few professors would know the truth, and that it was important the other students never find out.

Looking at his mother, Remus thought it wasn't too much of a stretch to say that she was the ill one. 

Hope sighed as she leaned back into the loveseat, a needle and thread in hand. She was exhausted, Remus knew, after her last shift at the muggle hospital. She was worn thin, since Lyall couldn’t work. He was supposed to go through Remus’ grandfather's things, and start selling them to bring in a little more money, but every time Lyall tried he’d end up laying on the floor with the same Tim Buckley record playing on the gramophone. Sometimes Remus would lie there with him, and they would stay silent, with Lyall occasionally singing along to the record. Hope said she’d had it with that album and that he was going to wear down all the ridges before the year was over if he kept at it. Remus’ father didn’t listen, only sang a little softer when she was around. 

'You don’t have to do that,' Lyall spoke up, gaze softening upon his wife. 'I can-'

'I’ve got it,' she responded, pulling the needle through. They didn’t speak for the rest of the day. Lyall put a record on the gramophone, and sprawled on the sitting room floor. The house filled with the sounds of a tender voice, singing about war and bloodshed and love. 

Remus read out in the garden until nightfall, occasionally humming to himself--a habit of his mother’s he picked up by consciously imitating her as a child. His mind drifted off to the town down the road. Cars and men on bicycles passed him, waving at the young boy in the grass. 

His mind drifted to the old bicycle in the shed. It used to belong to his uncle Edwin when he delivered milk to the other farms, the few villagers that lived down the hill. Hope said he used to brag that he rode it all the way to Caerphilly. Every part of it was rusted and creaky, but that bicycle was the essence of temptation for Remus. It would be so easy to undo the lock and ride out to wherever he thought Caerphilly was. 

He never did. 

Despite the man on the record crooning about death and loneliness, the distant expression on his dad’s face, and the needle pricks on his mother’s calloused fingers, things seemed to be looking up for the Lupins. 

*

**_Friday, 20 August, 1971_ **

'Why can't he just use yours?' From the garden, Remus could see his parents perfectly through the study window. Hope sat on the edge of the desk, a lit cigarette between her fingers.

'It won’t work as well for him.' Lyall responded, and through the cracked window, Remus could hear the frustration in his voice. 'Each wand is tailored specifically to fit the wizard. If he uses mine, there’s no telling what-'

'Does he have to go with you? If it’s as crowded as you say, what if someone sees him? What if someone finds out and…' Hope trails off, taking a long drag of her cigarette. Remus watched the trail of smoke plume from her mouth.

Lyall grasped her arms and laid his forehead against hers.

'He’ll be fine. I’ll be there the whole time, and we only need to go to Ollivander’s and the book shop.' Lyall’s voice was soft as he pressed his palm to the side of her face, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. 

'What if they can tell? Just by looking at him?' Remus strained to make out the words, although part of him wished he hadn’t. Sometimes it was better not to know.

'What if they try to take him? Or-or lock him up and-'

'They won’t.'

'What if we’re making a huge mistake?' 

It was what they’d all been thinking ever since the letter came all those months ago. What if this was a mistake? What if Dumbledore wasn’t as powerful and wise as he claimed to be? Remus didn’t know much about the wizarding world, but his father had made it abundantly clear that it did not care for werewolves. The details were blurry--he was young and some things were too much to hear just yet. But there was a reason his father never left the house, why his posture sunk with shame, and why Remus had never met another wizard until Dumbledore. 

'We might be, but it would be worse not to try,' Lyall’s voice was steady, reassuring. He very rarely sounded confident, something to do with the way his voice tapered at the end of every thought, already given up on what he had to say. 

'This is a chance to change everything, Hope,  _ everything.  _ He could actually live a normal life. He could work and meet people and…' he trailed off, but it was enough to stop Hope’s protests. 

It had been an odd, uncertain six years since Remus was bitten. They had moved more times than Remus could count on one hand, given more money to anyone with a whisper of a cure than could afford. They had lost everything in 1965 and had spent all the time since trying to find some semblance of a plan for Remus’ life. 

Not once before Dumbledore’s visit had they considered Hogwarts an option. Lyall swore that wizarding parents didn’t want their children to be near a werewolf, a dangerous Dark beast as far as they were concerned. 

The muggle schools didn’t want him either, albeit for entirely different reasons. He’d show up to school covered in bruises and bandages, sometimes his shoulder would pop out of place on the playground and there were days when he walked with a limp. Without fail, the teachers assumed the worst and his parents felt ill under their accusations.

Even when he was older and well-versed in practising caution, he couldn’t keep on track. Sometimes it was the pain that threw him off and distracted him from the work. Sometimes it was the fatigue or the drowsiness from the painkillers that never quite worked. Mostly, it was the other students and their blatantly judgemental stares. It was the words they whispered, the way they looked at him even when he wasn’t limping or falling asleep at his desk.

Hope spent the rest of the day in between sewing on the loveseat and smoking in the garden. Remus stayed in the sitting room until nightfall, reading and humming along to the record she bought last week. It was a mixture of acoustic and electric guitars, with a woman’s voice floating above the instruments sweetly. 

He and his father were set to leave first thing the following morning for a place called Diagon Alley. Remus spent all night thinking about it. It would be his first time going to a wizarding town. It would be his first time leaving Wales in four years. 

He occasionally went into Swansea with his mother, either to treat a particularly bad injury or to pick out a record for his birthday. Most of the time, though, Remus stayed in the cottage with his father. The thought of going to  _ London  _ with his  _ father  _ was thrilling and terrifying all at once. 

Remus knew his father had been to London recently, for the funeral, but, at the same time, a part of him felt like it was his father’s first time going too, since it had been so long. Lyall said he hadn’t been to Diagon Alley since before Remus was bitten, and it would be an adventure for both of them. 

*

**_Saturday, 21 August, 1971_ **

The drive was as long as his mother said it would be, but it was anything but boring. Remus found himself on the edge of his seat, watching the Welsh countryside disappear behind them. He didn’t tear his eyes from the window once, watching city skylines get closer and closer. The radio signal went in and out, occasionally playing a Beatles song that they would sing along to or a pop song that his father didn’t like and that Remus decided to also not like. 

Eventually, they made it into the city and it was full of life and movement and impossibly tall buildings. As they walked the streets to Diagon Alley, he almost wished he had ear plugs. London was so  _ loud.  _ Swansea was loud too, but not like this. He’d never seen so many people in his life, all walking past each other and driving and sitting in restaurant windows. 

Diagon Alley was just as overwhelming as the city, but in a different way. This place was scarier, more unfamiliar than anything the city had to offer. The people in Diagon Alley were dressed in cloaks and hats, like the witches in books. Oh, and then there was the magic. The magic was everywhere, in every corner of Remus’ line of sight. There were people levitating stacks of books and opening doors without moving. Some of the women’s robes changed colour as they walked, some of their handbags looked as though they were  _ alive. _

His hand clenched onto his father’s as they made their way through the chaos. Eventually, they stopped before a small shop with a large, hand-painted window that read ‘Ollivander’s’.

At the till was a man with long, slicked back grey hair and large, unsettlingly inquisitive eyes. He smiled, wide enough to where Remus could see he was missing a few teeth. 

'Lyall, it’s been quite some time,' the man drawled, 'eleven inches, cedar wood, unicorn hair core, rigid, if I’m not mistaken?'

'Garrick,' said Lyall, ignoring the man’s question, 'this is my son, Remus.'

'Interesting choice of name...' Garrick trailed off, before darting behind a large shelf and returning with a stick, or wand, rather.

'I’m thinking nine and a quarter inches, Fir wood, definitely a unicorn hair, and fairly flexible.' He thrust the wand into Remus’ hands.

'Go on then, give it a swish.' He said, as though Remus should already know that. Embarrassed, Remus waved his wrist just slightly, and watched as a dozen of boxes flew off the shelf, nearly landing on the old man’s head. 

'Not quite… suppose it better be cypress then….' He disappeared again, this time taking a while longer before reemerging. 

'Try this then--ten and a quarter inches, cypress wood, unicorn hair, pliable.'

Remus gingerly took the wand into his hands, and this time, it felt right. He couldn’t explain it if he tried, but he knew that this was the one. 

After purchasing the wand, the Lupins bought a number of books from the second hand shop at the end of the street. Lyall didn't talk much on the way home, eyes glazed over as the city lights blurred into blackness behind them. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> September ‘71, Part One: A train, a hat, and a poorly brewed potion.

**_Wednesday, 1 September, 1971_ **

'Would’ve hardly known you had a son, Lyall!' the old man remarked, wrapping Remus’ dad in a tight embrace. 

It had been a long time since Remus had heard his father’s name pronounced that way, the short English delivery rendering closer to “Lyle”. Not like how his mother affectionately lingered on the syllable, dragging out the long vowel.

Remus was so distracted by the couple’s aged appearance that the man’s words didn’t quite register. It didn’t click in that moment that this man  _ knew  _ his father. 

It didn’t quite click that  _ this  _ was Fleamont Potter, the man behind all the letters, who wrote for Christmas every year, with an invitation to some party that his parents never attended. 

'Ever since we moved to Hope’s old place it’s been hard keeping touch with everyone.' 

'Llanelli, right?' the old man, asked, eyes glancing down toward Remus, who couldn’t bring himself to stop staring. 

Mr Potter was in a few of the photos at the house. He was much younger in them, of course, with wild dark hair that stuck out in every direction. He had a careless arm strung around Remus’ grandad’s shoulder, waving to the camera with his free hand. 

Mr Potter looked similar, of course, with the same pale skin and broad smile. But now, his hair was grey, streaked with the occasional dark strand and neatly parted on the side. His features were more angular, the lines of his face deeper.

His wife looked much better, the signs of her age far more ambiguous. Her brown skin was much smoother than her husband’s pallor, with shallow laugh lines around her lips and the corners of her eyes. Her hair was a rich, glossy black and without a grey strand in sight. She smiled warmly at Remus, the gesture not quite meeting her eyes. 

The two men talked about Potter’s son, who by some strange glitch in nature, was Remus’ age. 

'Where is James, then?' Lyall asked, like he’d known the boy for years. 

'He ditched us a minute ago, suppose he didn’t want us embarrassing him in front of the older kids,' the old man joked, nodding to the train. 'He ran in, chasing after some quidditch players. If we find him, I’ll tell him to keep an eye on your boy there.' 

'Much appreciated, Fleamont. Remus is er-quite shy, to put it lightly.' Remus felt his face heat up with this remark, burning under his father’s fond gaze, and avoiding the Potters’ sympathetic eyes. 

Thankfully after this, they parted ways, with the Potters heading towards the train, in search of their son. Remus moved closer to his father as more children rushed past them, squeezing his hand tighter. 

'You’re gonna be fine,' Lyall smiled tightly, the sharp lines in his face revealing exactly how much he believed those words.  _ Figures _ , Remus thought,  _ I didn't think so either _ . 

'I don’t need someone to look after me.' 

'It never hurts to have a friend,' Lyall’s voice drifted off as he looked over the train station. It brought back his own memories of school and childhood. Remus watched as his expression flickered from nostalgia to guilt in seconds when he faced his son. 

'What if I can’t make friends?' His voice was feeble, barely above a whisper with the confession. He was at that age standing staunchly in between childhood and adolescence. That age when he was still afraid to be away from his parents, but too embarrassed to admit it. 

'I have a feeling you and James will be fast friends, at least if he’s anything like his father.'

Lyall’s hand tightened on his shoulder as they approached the train. This was going to be the hardest part for both of them. They shared a type of codependency. Neither of them ever left the house, and all the time that wasn’t spent homeschooling was spent playing chess, reading, or listening to records together. They embarked on new hobbies together--birding, stargazing, trivia. They were never really apart, and the thought of Remus being off on his own, even for a few months, was equally thrilling and terrifying to both of them. 

Just as Remus leaned into his father's embrace for what felt like the last time, a seemingly otherworldly force crashed into them, knocking Remus to the ground. An otherworldly force with wild black curls and wire-rimmed glasses by the name of James Potter. His parents trailed behind him, with Mr Potter looking mildly amused and Mrs Potter slightly embarrassed. 

'Sorry ‘bout that, mate,' the boy grinned as he offered Remus a hand up. 'I’m James. James Potter.'

James Potter’s handshake was something to be feared--it was too loose and too vigorous. This seemed to be an accurate description of James Potter in general, Remus discovered, as he was led to an empty train compartment. James dragged Remus off after shouting a quick goodbye to their parents. He had already taken on the mission of “looking after the young Lupin boy”.

Lyall smiled as his son was dragged off towards the train. Remus kept looking back at his father, panicking as James Potter started asking him rapidfire questions. 

'You know, I actually met your dad a few months ago. He’s terrifying,' the boy said as they boarded the train. 

'Didn’t you almost tip over my grandad’s coffin?' was all Remus could respond, stuffing down the panicked urge to start blabbering in defence of his father. 

'It was an accident. Besides, you weren’t even there.' 

James pushed open the door to an empty compartment, leaving Remus with no choice but to follow. He needed to be precise and deliberate in his navigation of the unfamiliarity that lied ahead. James Potter was being friendly, probably out of pity, but that didn’t mean he could be trusted. Before they left, Lyall told Remus to be careful. For years, Remus had to be careful. His secrets carried more weight than any child’s ever should. He had to keep his guard up at all times, even among those he would come to call his friends. That was always the rule, and no amount of dead grandfathers or letters from Dumbledore could change that. 

'I was ill.' 

'Must’ve been really bad for you to miss your grandad’s funeral,' Remus was shocked at how forward that statement was and how unabashedly James had said it. 

'I didn’t know him that well,' Remus explained, but really meant “He couldn’t stand the sight of me”.

'That’s weird,' James hadn’t stopped moving since sitting down. His leg bounced up and down wildly as his gaze drifted off to the window before coming back to Remus. 'He was a crotchety old bastard, though. Nearly hexed me for taking one of his shoes.'

'Yeah, he was,' Remus didn’t want to know why James Potter was after his grandad’s shoe or how close the two of them were. Did he consider James some sort of honorary, decidedly non-werewolf grandson, to replace the disappointment of Remus?

'So what do you like to do, then?' They settled into the compartment, sitting at opposite ends. Remus felt horribly, horribly exposed under Potter’s inquisitive eyes, magnified by the glass lenses. 

'I like reading,' he offered weakly, already knowing he’d disappointed the other boy. 

'I do too!' James exclaimed, clamouring to pull a book out of his bag. 'Well, I like  _ some  _ reading.'

'This is my absolute favorite series.' He handed Remus a thin paperback. 'Have you heard of it?'

The book,  _ The Cursebreaker Chronicles, vol 28: Kanen Flynn in the Erkling Lair _ , featured a colorful illustration of a tall, blond man brandishing a wand in darkness, surrounded by hundreds of red eyes. It was exactly the sort of A-format genre fiction Lyall highly discouraged his son from reading. Although perhaps the literary world in wizarding society was different (It wasn’t. Two years from now he and Sirius Black would sit in this very compartment mocking James endlessly for his unsophisticated taste).

'No I haven’t. I really only read muggle books.' Not even a lie. Remus silently congratulated himself. 

'Like what?'

'Er-' Remus paused for a moment. The problem with reading so much was that you often forget what books you’ve read and which ones you actually liked, which ones were just alright. The only ones you really remembered were the ones that were so bad you had to put them down. 

'I read a lot of poetry?' Remus suggested, glancing at the Tennyson book in his bag. His father liked poetry and he  _ loved  _ Tennyson. Their language lessons often consisted more of poetry and long-winded, experimental prose because Lyall was easily bored by fiction.

'Oh,' James wrinkled his nose in distaste. 'You’ll be in Ravenclaw, won’t you?'

Remus vaguely remembered his dad discussing the different Houses at the school. He remembered the headmaster talking about it too, when he visited back in June. He just couldn’t remember what they were for the life of him. His dad was in Ravenclaw, though, and so was his dad before him. 

'Yeah, probably.' 

James opened his mouth to speak further, but was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. 

'Excuse me?' A small boy in wrinkled trousers and a sweat stained button-down stood in the door frame. Remus was relieved to see that he wasn’t the only one in muggle clothing, in his well worn jumper and jeans. James was wearing an absurd ensemble consisting of a muggle t-shirt, checkered trousers and scarlet robes. 

'Would it be alright if I sat here?' the boy asked, fidgeting with the straps of his bag. He had a brassy blond bowl cut that had clearly been done in a kitchen. Remus remembered those days well, before he asked his mother if he could start wearing it a little longer. 

'Come on in,' James said with a grin. Remus struggled to smile, despising the way his stomach churned. He hated that his first instinct was suspicion. 

'I’m Peter,' the boy extended a hand, and Remus pitied the poor soul who wasn’t prepared for a James Potter handshake. 

'I’m James Potter, and that’s Lupin-' he paused. 'Hey Lupin, what’s your name?'

'Remus,' he said, nodding in Peter’s direction. Remus was certain he’d already told James his name, but could tell that he had a hard time focusing on anything. He grabbed a book from his messenger bag, grateful that the new addition to the compartment would distract James from him. 

'So, Peter, are you a muggleborn?' 

Once again, Remus was floored by James Potter’s lack of tact. Lyall hadn’t gone into too much detail about blood status, but Remus had gleaned that it was generally not something you would ask about immediately upon meeting someone. Although Peter was unfazed, explaining that he was a half-blood but grew up around muggles. Just like Remus, sort of.

Remus wondered why James didn’t feel the need to ask him if he was a muggleborn. His chest grew tight as he began wondering if James already knew, if his grandfather had told the Potters everything. He didn’t want to think about how guilty his parents would feel if-

'Remus? Remus?' James tapped his wand against Remus' shoulder.

'Yeah?' Remus responded absently, trying to pull himself out of his worried thoughts. 

'Peter wants to know where you’re from.' 

Remus turned to face the muggle boy--who wasn’t a muggle at all and Remus really ought to start calling Peter in his head. 

'I-um, never heard of any wizards out in Wales, so I was wondering…' Peter wouldn’t meet his eyes and Remus couldn’t help but think that the other boy was afraid of him.  _ As he should be _ , some dark part of Remus’ mind asserted. He shrugged it off. 

‘We’re a ways out from Llanelli,' Remus muttered, wondering if he sounded as rural and out of touch as he suddenly felt. Peter nodded, in that sort of half way indicating he had no clue what that meant.

Somehow, Peter had hit a sore subject without even meaning to. Remus hated the fact that he’d only been to London for the first time this year. He hated that he’d only been to Cardiff twice. He felt so hopelessly removed from everything. 

He read for the rest of the train ride, half listening to James and Peter talk about Hogwarts. He found himself focusing on the way Peter kept bringing up the Sorting, more and more panic creeping into his voice as they got closer to the school.

'It’s not that there’s anything bad about Hufflepuff, but I would like to be in Gryffindor.'

Remus sighed inwardly. He couldn’t care less where he ended up. He probably wouldn’t make it through the year anyways. 

*

The halls of Hogwarts overwhelmed Remus as the First Years were led to the Great Hall. The portraits were deeply unsettling--moving and talking like captured ghosts. 

There were the actual ghosts, which frightened Remus to no end, reminding him of his mother’s tales of ghostly women who sat by the river, waiting for their next victims.

Most of the spirits kept to themselves, save a translucent man in Shakespearean clothing who was consoling some of the more nervous First Years. There was another who looked more like the ghosts his mother spoke of--chalk white and covered in blood. But that wasn’t even the apparition that frightened Remus the most.

That honor befell a short man in jester’s clothing with jet-black hair that peeked out from beneath his bell-tipped cap. His eyes glowed bright orange, reminding Remus of hot coals, the jagged embers of a dying hearth. He spoke to all of the students, mocking them and cackling 'Ickle Firsties! What a treat!'

Remus felt his blood go cold as the ghost floated down to where he, James, and Peter walked. 

'Oh, I do like Lupins…' he drawled right in Remus’ ear, before soaring back up above them and bursting into song.

'Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy, Lupin!'

'Good Lord…' Remus desperately wished that part of the castle’s notorious “quirks” included man-eating floorboards that swallowed you up in circumstances of dire embarrassment. His face burned as James and Peter joined in the laughter.

He stayed silent, keeping his eyes on the ground until they reached the Great Hall. 

The Sorting was a concept that eluded Remus’ understanding and tied endless knots of anxiety in his gut. He listened intently as the first batch of names were called, drifting through last names beginning with ‘A,’ before coming to ‘B,’ when his attention began to drift elsewhere. 

Remus watched as Professor McGonagall placed the hat on top of a boy’s neatly bound black hair. He was deathly pale, with stormy, almost grey, blue eyes and sharp features. There was a rigid edge to his expression that made Remus squirm. The boy was only eleven. He had the face of a child but the stern, dignified air of someone much older. 

The hat seemed to take a pause of deliberation, a little longer than it had for the previous boy. The boy remained stoic, even as the hat bellowed 'GRYFFINDOR!' across the Hall. 

There was no applause this time. A stunned silence settled over the Hall. The boy got up and slowly made his way to Gryffindor table. 

Remus half-listened to James’ hushed explanation that all of the Blacks have been in Slytherin until now. He felt distinctly out-of-touch and out-of-place, not even knowing the differences between the Houses. He’d never even heard of the Blacks until now. He felt like a tourist, observing everything from afar, like an outsider.

The rest of the Sortings passed uneventfully. A redheaded girl was sorted into Gryffindor and started crying (James didn’t have an explanation for that one). 

Remus was so nervous about his own Sorting that he didn’t have the energy to pay attention to the others. It meant nothing, of course. His dad was in Ravenclaw, but he made it perfectly clear that he’d be proud no matter where Remus was sorted. 

He found himself feeling wary of Slytherin. The students at that table wore cold, judgemental expressions. He felt like they were all looking right at him, or maybe right through him, as though they could see him for what he was, and they didn’t like it. If not for Remus’ mother’s voice echoing in his head, warning against dramatics, he’d say the Slytherins’ expressions verged on predatory as they looked on the First Years. 

Suddenly, Peter tapped him on the shoulder, pulling Remus from his thoughts once again. He was ashamed of his slight flinch, ashamed of getting so distracted in the middle of something important. 

'Remus Lupin?' the professor asked, for the second or third time. Remus stumbled to the front of the hall. He apologised many times to the professor, who responded only by gingerly placing the hat on his head.

It barely grazed his crown before thundering a deep, hearty 'GRYFFINDOR!' 

_ Suppose I don’t get a say in the matter? _ Remus thought, questioning whether this system was based on anything at all. He sat on the stool for so long afterwards, bewildered, that the professor had to nudge him toward the Gryffindor table. His face burned with embarrassment after that, and he ignored all of the cheers from the other Gryffindors as he sat down. 

Eventually, Peter and James were also sorted into Gryffindor. They sat down right next to him, the latter excitedly spreading rumors about Sirius Black. James leaned in closely, swallowing a goblet of drink, as he told Remus and Peter the Black family was notorious for inbreeding. 

Somehow, James had already decided that Remus and Peter were his friends. That they were people worth sitting next to and talking to. Remus couldn’t help but feel a weight lifted off his shoulders. Somehow, the hardest part of this was already over, and it was only the first day. 

James talked through the entirety of the feast, telling Remus and Peter every story his father had told him about his time at Hogwarts. Absently, he knew that should be paying attention and that his grandad’s name was a part of every other sentence. He knew that James was a wealth of knowledge when it came to Lupin family history even without meaning to be and that he  _ should  _ be listening. 

The thing was, though, that Remus couldn’t focus on anything but the feast itself. It was utterly ridiculous but he felt tears prickling at his eyes as he shoved forkful after forkful of potatoes and roast chicken into his mouth. He very rarely ate like this. He wanted everything smothered in the thick, brown gravy that refilled in the ceramic boat after every pour. He wanted everything he ever ate to be this flavorful, this  _ delicate _ . 

His mother always described his appetite as fickle, what with the bouts of nausea that came with the waxing of the moon. His father was fond of saying that Remus was ‘void of palate entirely’, as all he was ever willing to eat was toast, porridge, and potatoes.

But at home, there were significantly less options. There was instant mash, tinned meats that were only appetising every third day, and slimy tinned vegetables that were never appetising. Remus’ mother never had the time to cook from scratch, and when she did it was only for special occasions. His father tried his hand at cooking sometime shortly after Remus was bitten, but only succeeded in finding new ways to burn bread.

Peter’s mouth and fingers were slathered in grease, wearing an expression of pure joy. Comparatively, James ate slowly and methodically. His plate was neatly ordered and with all things that made sense together. The ceramic was not inundated with gravy, the portions were that of an average, acceptable dinner. 

It took everything Remus had not to spontaneously burst into tears the minute the puddings appeared. It was an assortment like he had never seen: glistening apple pies topped with intricate latticework, enormous, pastel trifles in crystalline bowls, too many varieties of tart to count, and an seemingly infinite array of chocolate-everything. 

'You know our  _ shared  _ dormitory only has one loo, right?' James said, nose crinkling as he eyed the two boys on either side of him with distaste. 'You’re going to make yourselves sick.'

'I’m not-' Remus tried to explain, biting back the urge to close his eyes and savor the bit of chocolate cake in his mouth, 'I don’t really get to have sweets at home.'

Peter nodded emphatically around his own full mouth, echoing the sentiment. 

At home, Remus was only allowed sweets after he finished everything on his plate. But here, he could abandon the rest of the chicken and potatoes, and eat as much pudding as he wanted. If the only real consequence was James Potter being slightly disgusted with him, that was a small price to pay. 

After the feast was through, a cheerful prefect called Gideon with sandy blond hair led them up to Gryffindor Tower. There were two dorms, one with five boys, another with four. Remus, Peter, and James were in the latter, with the infamous Sirius Black. The long, winding walk to the Tower was passed with James’ loud whispers about how awful it was going to be to live with Sirius Black. 

‘It’s just not safe, you know?’ He said, not so much to Remus and Peter as to the entire crowd, ‘Making us a room with a Death Eater.’

‘That’s enough, Potter,’ the prefect scolded, ‘unless you’re angling for detention on the first day. It’s not unheard of, but it is a guaranteed Howler.’

Remus stayed quiet, letting James' compulsive need to talk fill the silence. He gleaned that James and Sirius were quite wealthy from the quality of their trunks alone--the contents of said trunks confirmed this theory. Remus’ things were all hand-me-downs, decades-old things that his father had saved out of sentimentality, never once thinking Remus might use them. Nonetheless, he was grateful for the old trunk and its contents, and couldn’t bring himself to feel ashamed of it, even if it was much shabbier than the other boys’.

By the looks of it, Peter was even poorer than he was. Remus recognised the tattered edges of Peter’s robes, the scuffs on his shoes, and the worn edges on his textbooks. He recognised the way Peter kept his eyes cast down, how he kept things in his trunk instead of laying them out on the bed. 

James didn’t seem to notice any of this, too busy glaring daggers at Sirius, who had been forced to take the bed next to his. Remus wanted to be as far from the other boys as possible out of an abundance of caution. Peter, Remus guessed, hadn’t wanted James to see his belongings up close, so he had opted for the next furthest bed. 

'You know I asked to be in Gryffindor, right?' Sirius said sharply, after James very loudly whispered something into Peter’s ear. 'You can stop telling everyone I'm a Slytherin spy.'

'That is yet to be proven, Black. I know your family’s involved with that pureblood cult like all the Slyhtherins are and I’m not letting you convert any of us actual Gryffindors. Besides, you don't get to choose your House,' James said. 

'I asked to be in Gryffindor.' Peter said quietly, causing the other three boys to suddenly pay attention to him, if only for a brief moment.

'Why would  _ you  _ ask to be in Gryffindor?' James moved right back to Sirius, barely acknowledging Peter.

'I have my reasons,' Sirius Black replied, stony eyed. He turned around and resumed laying out robes on his bed. 'Keep your nose out of my business, Potter. I know your sort, and believe me, this won’t end well for you.'

'Are you threatening me?' James’ tone took on a deadly serious edge that Remus wouldn’t have thought him capable of. 

'Obviously.' Black let out a long-winded sigh. 

Remus picked up the nearest book on instinct. Pretending not to eavesdrop was a skill he’s perfected over the years. 

'I’d be more careful if I were you, Black. I know your lot’s famous for...shall we say,  _ creative  _ spellwork, but that’s not going to fly around here.'

Black stiffened for a moment, but promptly returned to his robes as though he hadn’t heard James’ remark. The knot of dread in Remus’ gut only tightened with the tangible tension of the dorm. No one but James spoke for the rest of the night. Black pulled the curtains around his bed shut and didn’t make a sound until morning. 

James made a point of telling Remus and Peter that he won’t 'let that bigot spout off any more nonsense.'

Remus nodded along with Peter, not quite ready to offer a better explanation as to why his father told him almost nothing about the wizarding world and blood-status. He contemplated it long after the others went to bed and all but one candle was snuffed. 

The notion of blood purity gnawed at Remus’ mind. Just when he thought he had enough to worry about, all of the sudden it mattered that his mother was a muggle? He wanted to say it didn’t make sense, but in truth, most things made sense to Remus. It made sense that he had to be more cautious than the other students, that there were things he wouldn’t get to do, classes he wouldn’t get to take and that he would always have to look over his shoulder.

*

**_Friday, 3 September, 1971_ **

The first week, despite only lasting three days, was rough. Remus spent the whole week in a daze, his mind occupied by the impending full moon on Sunday. He was overwhelmed by all of the people, the sheer size of the castle, and James’ insistence on including him in everything. He tried to pay attention, but he ended up needing to be ushered out of almost every single classroom by either Peter or a professor. 

The sounds of Hogwarts were still painfully loud--all of the students’ chattering between classes, their thundering footsteps and laboured breathing. Everywhere they went Remus was so overwhelmed that he struggled to focus on pretty much anything. 

At some point, the poltergeist’s song had caught on and soon the whole Year was singing it. The tune was rudimentary, but unreasonably catchy. Remus couldn’t walk through the halls without someone chanting ‘loony, loopy Lupin’ over and over in his direction.

James had started calling him ‘Loony’, and apparently felt no guilt at this affectionate bullying, even when Peter joined in. Remus couldn’t afford to be bothered by nicknames or obnoxious poltergeists, though. He was lucky to have the friends he did. 

James let him borrow his owl to write his parents, as all the school owls were unreasonably skittish when Remus was around. He decided to interpret the gesture as an olive branch.

The letter was short--not much had happened yet, but he was already feeling his father’s absence and missing his mother’s constant humming and singing around the house. The noise of Hogwarts was too aggressive and so unlike the soft sounds of the Lupin cottage. 

It was also worth noting that Remus Lupin had completely forgotten what going to school entailed. His time at the muggle schools was brief and unpleasant, characterised by extreme discomfort and an inability to complete assignments on time. The route that his father took with homeschooling was far more suited to Remus’ meandering schedule, interrupted by injuries and the constant distraction of some pang or another.

Lyall Lupin was an incredibly intelligent man. Both his writings and illustrations had been published in numerous academic journals and cited in countless formal essays. Remus was also pretty sure he wrote actual legislation for the Ministry at some point. So, it’s not as though Remus didn’t learn anything from his father. He learned to read at a very young age and hadn’t quite stopped reading since. He took to maths easily, and whatever gaps in scientific knowledge Lyall possessed were counteracted by Hope’s knowledge of medicine. In the past eleven years, Remus had studied literature, maths, biology, and history. The only problem that he was starting to notice was that Lyall Lupin had a very different concept of schooling than the professors at Hogwarts did. 

Remus was used to reading through a few chapters and discussing it with his father. They would pour over motifs and figurative language, the greater implications of word choice and syntax. He knew enough maths to get through basic calculations in everyday life. They studied history books, and Remus memorised all of the most important dates. He knew all about wars and imperialism and industrial revolutions. He’d even learned some history of magic. 

What Lyall did not teach his son, however, were spells and potions and how to transfigure a needle from a match. He did not lecture for long periods of time, he did not make Remus take notes. For the better part of Remus’ life, ‘school’ had meant independent reading and calculations followed by discussion.

Needless to say, Hogwarts was proving to be far more challenging than expected. For one thing, most of the professors insisted on giving long and dense lectures. Remus had no idea what he was supposed to do with that time. Peter took notes, of course, but they were illegible and he hardly ever looked back over them. James didn’t need to take notes, of course.

Remus struggled to keep up with the professor’s long-winded explanations. He heard the words they were saying, but it just didn’t translate to the parchment. By the time he remembered what to write down, the professor had already moved on. He resolved not to bother with note taking, and re-read every page they were assigned that week and then some. At least that way, even if his focus drifted off during a lecture, he would know what was being discussed.

Unfortunately, this strategy did nothing to assist in the practical portions of Remus’ classes. No amount of reading or familiarity with a concept could make Remus understand how the other students managed to cast spells so effortlessly. 

Magic had always been incidental before. It was something that was always there, inside of him, but not something that could be controlled or manipulated to fit his will. 

Yet here Professor Flitwick was, demanding that Remus levitate a feather with the simple instructions of ‘swish and flick’. It didn’t make any sense. Remus didn’t understand how saying a few words and moving his wand could tap into the magic that was already a part of him. He didn’t understand if it was just supposed to happen or if he was supposed to feel something. Surely he would feel something, right? Because the magic was inside of him, so he would have to be physically affected by using it, right?

'You’re overthinking it, Loony,' James’ dimples were no longer charming, Remus discovered. They were annoying as hell. The smug bastard managed to levitate his feather before Flitwick even gave the instructions. 'You don’t need to think about it at all, really.'

James’ own feather, which hadn’t stopped levitating since the start of class came to rest in front of Remus, tickling at his nose. He swatted it away and wondered why James couldn’t torment Peter instead. One glance at the other boy, and his face twisting in utter anguish, answered Remus’ question. It wasn’t fair. James grew up around magic, his parents practised magic. He was miles ahead of Remus, Peter and all the other muggleborns.

'Mr Lupin,' Flitwick approached, snatching James’ feather out of the air. 'Your movements are far too tight. Loosen your grasp and make more fluid motions. Like this.'

Without warning, the Professor’s hands were on Remus,’ gingerly adjusting his hold on his wand. Remus froze instantly. It was irrational, he knew, but strangers touching him made him uneasy. Obviously, lycanthropy was not transmitted through that sort of contact, but all the same, it was worrying. There was one scar he couldn’t hide, from the centre of his palm dragging down the base of his wrist. It would be so easy for the professor to notice at this angle, to see and ask about and-

'Understand?' Flitwick asked and Remus shook himself out of his thoughts.

'Yes,' he responded, having absolutely no idea what he was supposed to have understood. 

'Alright give it a try, then.'

Remus gulped. It was absolutely ridiculous how threatened he felt by a single feather. It was something so small and frail, yet unbearably daunting. He took a breath and tried not to think about it too much, like James said. 

' _ Wingardium Leviosa.'  _ He whispered, and gently made the motion with his wrist. With wide eyes, Remus watched as the feather slowly lifted off of the desk. 

'Well done!' Flitwick moved on to the other side of the classroom, leaving Remus to assist Peter with his newfound knowledge. 

James also tried to help his other friend, but didn’t quite understand how to explain the concept beyond saying 'You just do it.'

With a gentler, more sympathetic explanation Remus had successfully assisted Peter in levitating the feather a few inches above the desk by the end of hour. There was something deeply satisfying about being the one to help Peter, when even the professor hadn’t been able to.

Remus’ mother was the same way. She loved explaining to Lyall how muggle things worked or telling Remus about the science behind whatever healing salve she was using on his wounds. It was a good balance, since Lyall struggled to communicate anything below his intellectual level. He could discuss the nuances of a certain book or poem with Remus all day, but as soon as he had to actually explain something, he disengaged like it was no longer fun for him. 

*

Their next class was Potions, taught by an old man called Professor Slughorn, who might have been the strangest person Remus had ever met. He was a stout old man with a kind face and clear blue eyes that seemed to look straight through you. What little hair he had was an ashy sort of grey and clung to the sides of his head in a horseshoe. He wore a lavish three-piece suit in an obnoxious shade of emerald green, complete with a gleaming silver pocket watch chain. A bright green handkerchief was folded into the breast pocket, along with a jewel-encrusted serpent brooch. He looked like a time traveller, but Remus couldn’t name any decade where that ensemble would’ve made sense. 

The strangest thing about Slughorn was that in spite of his old age, he was rather lively. He spoke animatedly about the wonders of potions crafting, nearly winning Remus over in the process. He brimmed with charisma and charm, in a way that made absolutely no sense for someone who looked like he did. 

'Potions brewing is the ultimate blend of magic and science,' he said, working each side of the classroom like a salesman. 'The heart of wizarding medicine, the heart of magical innovation as a whole can be traced back to potions masters. 

'Not nearly so simple as a “swish and flick” of the wand, they require an eye for detail, a steady hand, and an attentive mind. You’ll have to divide your focus between temperature and ingredients, even the direction in which you stir the cauldron. You’ll need to pay attention to the colour, the scent, the smoke of your brew all at once.'

Remus’ heart sank with each word. He wasn't any of those things. His hands shook all the time and he couldn’t keep track of where the classrooms were. He once tried to heat up a tin of soup on the cooker at home and completely destroyed their only pot.

'This is an art form not for those easily distracted, or those with their heads in the clouds. It is a delicate practice with more profound effects than any silly charms or enchantments.’

'Yeah, right,' Sirius Black said under his breath, just behind Remus and James. 

'Now students, if you'll please pick a bench and a partner. Today, we will begin one of the most important academic journeys of your lives.'

Peter partnered with Remus, undoubtedly not wanting James to witness his ineptitude with any of the skills Professor Slughorn listed. Remus felt the same way, relieved to be free of James’ natural prowess and the silent competition. This left James partnered with none other than Sirius Black, a crime that he made sure the whole class knew about in great detail.

'You can't be serious, Professor!' James wailed. 'I can't work with him! He's awful.' 

'You're not so great yourself, Potter.' Sirius muttered, arms crossed.

'Boys, honestly, would it kill you to be a little more mature? Let this be a teaching moment for you both. We don't always get to choose who we work with in life.'

The two dark haired boys grumbled a few protests, but made no more attempts to switch benches. Remus did feel bad for them, although not as much as he should’ve. Really, he was just pleased not to have James as a distraction in what was probably going to be his most difficult class. 

'Very well.' Slughorn smiled, before turning to the chalkboard and writing ‘Cure for Boils’ in loose, cursive letters.

'Today we will be brewing the rather rudimentary Cure for Boils. Its function is exactly what its name suggests, but be warned--should you brew it improperly it will achieve the exact opposite!'

Remus’ stomach twisted as Slughorn outlined the basic steps. Peter looked about the same, already beginning to fidget under the pressure. There had to be at least twelve different vials on the bench in front of them, all with wildly unfamiliar names and properties. 

They began the process slowly, reading through the instructions three times each before even touching the ingredients. Remus began to crush the snake fangs while Peter sliced something else with a ridiculous name. They carried out the rest of the instructions carefully, although they were often distracted by the absolute disaster that was the pairing behind them. 

'No you git, I’ve already added the nettles!' James hissed. 

'I know, which is why I added the Shrake spines! Did you even read the instructions?' Sirius quipped back. 

'You were  _ supposed  _ to be stirring it. Did  _ you  _ even read the instructions?'

'I already stirred it! You would have noticed that if you paid attention to anything but your ego, Potter.'

'Obviously, I knew that, I was just testing you.' James grumbled. 'Guess  _ I’ll  _ do the slugs then.'

Remus wished he were in any kind of capacity to properly enjoy the phrase “I’ll do the slugs”, but his own potion had taken a turn for the worse. He kept stirring it, and stirring it but it just kept bubbling and smoking and changing colour at random. 

'What did I do wrong?' he whispered to Peter, who was frozen in place as the professor approached their bench. 

'Oh my…' Slughorn exclaimed when he saw the faint smoke coming off their cauldron. 'Looks like someone didn’t stir  _ gently  _ enough and the Shrake spines were overstimulated.'

Remus wanted to curl up in on himself before anyone saw him. It was his fault then. His own mad stirring had caused him and Peter to fail on their first try. 

‘Congratulations Lupin and Pettigrew. You have just brewed a potion that will ensure the most bulbous boils on its victims.'

Remus’ face flared red as a few of the students laughed. Peter laughed nervously along with them. He just couldn’t believe how badly he’d already done and it was only the first day. 

'Well done, Potter and Black. This might be one of the nicest brews I’ve seen from a First Year.' Slughorn commented as he moved towards the back of the classroom. 'Still probably could’ve used more ginger by the looks of it. But a wonderful first try, boys.'

Figures. The two of them could spend the entire class bickering and not even keeping track of who did what and still make a perfect potion. Meanwhile Remus and Peter were double-checking, triple-checking everything and they still mucked it up. 

'You didn’t add enough ginger.' Sirius whispered and Remus turned around to see James’ face twist up in pure rage. If a fist-fight broke out right there he doubted anyone would’ve been surprised. 

'Sod  _ off _ , Black.'

'Try to pay more attention next time, won’t you, Potter?'


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> September ‘71, Part Two: The first full moon, Lily Evans, and Sirius Black.

_**Sunday, 5 September, 1971** _

Madam Pomfrey was a short woman with a mass of dark brown curls tucked into a neat bun pulled under a white bonnet. She had sharp, angular features and a kind smile. She spoke in quiet, firm tones and seemed to have no concept of personal space. 

'And you said your mother’s a nurse?' She asked dubiously as Remus unbuttoned his shirt, leaving the vest underneath. 

'A muggle nurse,' he responded, trying not to feel defensive. 

'And your father never used healing magic?'

'No...he really only uses magic for heating charms.’

'Hmmm.' She frowned, and Remus shivered as she lightly pressed against one of the more recent wounds on his upper arm from August’s full. Generally, he didn’t scratch himself in the cellar, but sometimes the wolf would pound against the door, and the old wood or the hinges would cut into his skin. His mother had taken the stitches out a few weeks before, but the wound was still sore. It was the kind of scratch that would leave a textured scar, with ridges of white-silver flesh. 

'Muggle medicine terrifies me,' she said, even quieter, like she was afraid someone would hear her. 'But then, I suppose they just make do with what they have. How did your mother close this wound?' 

Remus decided that he quite liked Madam Pomfrey, as she animatedly reacted to his description of stitches and the medical supplies his mother kept on hand. He found out that she had been hired only a few years ago, after working the night shift at St. Mungo’s for nearly five years. She reminded Remus of his mother, which was comforting amid all the unfamiliarity of Hogwarts. 

He found out that she took the job at Hogwarts as soon as the position was available, and that she was the youngest healer ever made Matron at Hogwarts. 

'I don’t like to brag.' She muttered an incantation beneath her breath, and Remus felt the soreness in his arm subside. She pressed lightly against it again.

'How’s that?'

'Much better,' Remus rolled the joint, relieved at the ease of movement. His mother had told him to expect at least another month of soreness until it was fully healed. 

As they walked toward the Whomping Willow, the great tree Dumbledore had put in as a precaution for the sake of Remus’ secret, Madam Pomfrey, or Poppy as she told him to call her, distracted Remus with explanations of all the different healing spells there were. He was most excited about a spell she was developing to mend broken bones in seconds.

She aimed a large rock at a protruding knot of the tree and the two of them disappeared into the tunnel below, figures cloaked by the sunset’s fading light. 

Remus felt the pull of the moon on the horizon as his vision blurred around the edges. He liked to think of the beforehand--the nausea, the vertigo, the uneasiness--as a distraction from what lay ahead. 

'Are you alright?'

'Just feeling…a little ill.' Remus was used to lying in the cellar by this time, with the fever soothed by the cold, damp stone. 

'Almost there,' she muttered. 'Here, take my hand.'

Remus hesitated. He wasn’t comfortable touching anyone this close to moonrise. Normally, at this time, his only contact with the outside world was his father’s voice on the other side of the cellar door. He would sing softly, a low vibrato laying a bed of comfort for Remus to focus on as the transformation took hold. 

Lyall wasn’t the best singer by any definition, often struggling to hit some of the notes. But Remus needed something to ground him as moon madness and fevers gave way to the snapping of bones. Lyall never had anything to say on days of the full, when the guilt grew too heavy to breathe with, so he sang, letting Remus know he was there, and that he would be there in the morning too. With a few blankets layered over a coat, he would sit there, leaned up against the stone until morning. Sometimes Hope would sit with him, her sweet lilting voice outshining her his. That was mostly in the summertime, though. She tended to stay inside as much as possible on winter nights.

'I’m okay.' 

He pushed past her outstretched hands and up into the trap door. The shack was dismal, dilapidated, and dim. The streetlamps of the village down the hill perforated the warped wood, providing an eerie and inconsistent light. He sank to the floor as soon as he could, in a cold sweat.

'There's a bed upstairs, dear,' Poppy said softly. 'I could help you up there?'

His body burned beneath the flesh. His hearing sharpened and every sound was too shrill, too piercing. From the dull thrum of blood pumping in his veins to the Matron’s breathing. She was staying far too long, far too close to moonrise. 

'Please go,' he croaked out feebly. He shivered on the floor and flinched away from her hand as she tried to lay it against his forehead. 

'Okay...okay. I’ll be back in the morning. First thing, I promise.' Remus couldn’t make out her expression through the tears in his eyes. 

Distantly, he heard the trapdoor shut and the sound of a few more incantations muttered under Poppy’s breath. For a brief moment, Remus could hear everything--the pulse of her heartbeat as she ran down the tunnel, the hollow echo of her footsteps. He heard the creatures of the forest, from the loudest chirp of an owl to the faint fluttering of a birch fly’s wings. 

And then the moon burst over the horizon and Remus was untethered from his own heartbeat, from the feelings of dread and guilt. The knot that had been pulling itself tighter and tighter in his chest unraveled. His body, which had been curling in on itself like the tides drawing back, burst with the crest of the wave, now rushing forward in full force. Bones pulled apart at the joint before snapping back into new places as skin gave way to fur, green eyes bled into amber, nervous guilt into unfettered rage. 

Remus screamed, acutely hearing the absence of his father’s voice, and missing it, missing it desperately as his humanity slipped just out of reach. 

*

**_Monday, 6 September, 1971_ **

Remus woke up in the hospital wing sometime after sunrise, only to be given a Sleeping Draught which kept him out for most of the day. He didn’t wake again until long after classes had finished.

He woke up slowly, dazed and groggy until he met the matron’s wide brown eyes from where she sat by the bed. He felt much better than he ever had after a full moon, though his chest was still heavy and his joints ached with each subtle movement accompanying his breath. 

'How are you feeling?' 

'Not...awful?' Remus offered, blinking his bleary eyes up at the ceiling. She laughed at that, some of the tension easing out of her voice. Remus knew that the aftermath of the transformation could be scarring, and not just for him. He’d grown accustomed to the astringent stench of his mother bleaching his blood out of her aprons, and the way his father’s expression turned guilty when Remus wore short sleeves. The number of people who had seen Remus’ blood rose, and he could tell from the nurse’s face that it was even worse than she had expected. 

'You twisted both your wrists and your left knee, but those were fairly simple to set straight.'

'I normally heal pretty fast…' Remus explained, rolling his shoulders. 'My dad reckons it’s part of the er-...lycanthropy.'

'A logical assumption indeed,' she sighed, 'I’ve never dealt with wounds like these on someone so young. I think, well, I think if you didn’t have advanced healing capabilities you’d probably be dead.'

Remus blanched at that, unwilling to consider the possibility. Poppy seemed not to notice, frantically flipping through pages of leather-bound parchment, moving on with her catalogue of his injuries. 

'The scratches were a little more difficult, especially since it was so difficult to tell how much of it was directly your doing and how much was from splinters and whatnot. I’m not entirely sure of how much blood you lost, but I think I have an idea...' She stumbled over the phrase, and Remus wondered if his mother was ever like this with her patients, embarrassed and apologetic of how little she could do. 'And um--the bite, I don’t-'

She exhaled sharply, tugging at the edges of her bonnet. Remus as an individual seemed to challenge the careful composure of every adult in his life. He made his parents, normally introverted and shy, devolve into screaming matches and sobbing meltdowns. He made Dumbledore break every oath he swore to become headmaster by endangering the lives of every single one of his students. And now he forced the youngest healer ever made Hogwarts Matron to question her own ability. 

'I’m sorry. I haven’t worked on anything like this before, but I never back down from a challenge.' Her expression hardened with determination as she handed Remus a small vial of potion labeled “pain”.

There was a frantic beating against the door and instantly, Poppy jumped up from Remus’ bedside. She swung open the door, and Remus pulled the duvet up over his head so no one would see him. 

'What’s the meaning of this?' She asked sternly, and Remus pulled down the blanket slightly to see Sirius Black burst into the room, followed by a sandy-haired boy in Gryffindor robes. Remus recognised him the prefect who’d scolded James. 

'Narcissa-' the prefect began but stopped when Sirius opened his mouth. Remus, Poppy, and the prefect watched in abject disgust as fine, tawny sand poured out of the boy’s mouth. Once the stream trickled to a stop, he began violently coughing up clouds of dust.

'Oh, dear,' Poppy muttered, running toward a large cabinet and grabbing a glass bottle of clear liquid. The prefect hit Sirius on the back a couple of times. 'Drink this.' 

Sirius tipped the bottle back, swallowing its contents in a matter of seconds. He gasped for breath afterwards, and Remus ducked back under his duvet as his gaze lifted in his direction. 

'I can’t believe they’re still throwing that one around,' Poppy sighed. The clicking of her heels was louder than her voice as she walked. Remus didn’t dare show his face again. 

'I can’t believe she’d hex a First Year!' The prefect exclaimed, rage seeping into his voice. 'Even one as annoying as Black.'

'Hey-' Sirius coughed, '-I would have been fine without you! I can take care of myself!' 

'Really? Because from where I was standing it looked like they were winning.'

'It would have been fine. I  _ am _ fine. Can I go now?' Sirius asserted, as much on offence as he was when he confronted James. His voice was hoarse, and Remus could tell it hurt for him to speak at all. 

'Leave us, Gideon,' Poppy said. 'I need to make sure he’s not too dehydrated.'

The prefect, Gideon, shut the door behind him after muttering a sarcastic 'you’re welcome, Black.'

'Whatever,' Sirius rasped in an almost laughable attempt at confidence. 'I’m fine, really.'

'Drink more water,' Poppy said. Notes of sympathy touched her stern tone. 'I’m sure you know how important it is to stay hydrated after that one.'

'You don’t know anything about me,' he said, and Remus could perfectly picture his face, brow furrowed and lips set in a fine line. 

'No, but I know your cousin and I knew her father.' Remus’ breath was starting to stifle him under the duvet. He dared stick the top half of his head out, and watched as Sirius tilted his head back, gulping down another glass of water. 

'She started it. I only hexed her because she threatened me.' 

With that, something melted away and Remus remembered that Sirius Black was the same age as him. He wasn’t the bloodthirsty spy James thought he was. He too was eleven years old and starting all of this for the first time. 

'I’m sure,' Poppy said, and flashed Remus an apologetic look as she sat down next to Sirius. She flicked her wand in Remus’ direction and the curtains pulled themselves closed. 

'And it’s not like I abandoned her!' Sirius exclaimed, voice still scratchy. 'Typical Narcissa, though, to make it about herself.'

He said the name with a note of familiarity and perhaps, a subtle fondness that confused Remus to no end. He’d said it like a child learning someone’s name for the first time, emphasising both the first and last syllables.

Remus imagined the story he could glean just from those three syllables. Poppy had said the girl was Sirius’ cousin. They’d gotten into a fight today, she felt abandoned. Perhaps she had been one to take care of Sirius as a young child, perhaps she had taught an infant version of him to say her name with such bouncy cadence. Somehow the hardest thing to imagine in all of that was that Sirius Black was once a baby. He couldn’t picture an infant having those sharp slate eyes, always narrowed in inquisition or suspicion. That couldn’t be something you were born with, could it? 

'She knows, she definitely knows how many letters the family sent this week,' Sirius huffed. 'And that slimy half-blood didn’t need to join in! I don’t even know him! He had no idea what he was talking about!' 

Remus was kind of sad the curtains had been closed. He was anxious to see his dormmate in this new, vulnerable light. Hearing the hushed conversation from behind the curtains felt like all the worst parts of being home after the full moon: lying on his bed, forced to listen to his parents argue about him. 

Remus wondered how often Poppy ended up playing psychologist for students, and if she considered mental wounds as part of her healing practice. 

'If I told you not to get involved you wouldn’t listen, right?'

'I’m not- I can’t-’ Sirius' voice rose in frustration. 'I won’t just stand there and let them insult me! You’re mad if you think I’ll just take it like a- like a bloody coward!'

Remus shrunk in on himself, wondering if he was a coward for letting James call him ‘Loony’. Was he a coward for accepting his parents’ hermited existence and his grandfather’s rejection of him?

'Merlin, I forget how dramatic Gryffindors can be. You don’t have to hex somebody just because they called you a few names. Not everything  _ needs  _ to offend your honor, you know.'

'Do you really think I’m a Gryffindor?' Sirius asked, all of the bravado and rage absent from his voice. Remus covered his ears, shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to feel sympathy for the one person his only friend hated. Not wanting to feel sympathy for anyone. 

*

**_Tuesday, 7 September, 1971_ **

'Where were you?' Remus woke up to James Potter’s intense gaze. He’d walked back to the dormitory late last night, after he was sure his dorm mates would be asleep.

Remus pushed himself up against the bed frame and rubbed at his sleep-crusted eyes. James was still in his pyjamas, clearly having also just woken. Somehow, his hair was even wilder than normal-- half of it defying gravity and sticking straight up, with the other half plastered to his face. 

'I’m-my mother’s ill,' Remus corrected himself. 'She’s got a blood disease. Have to go home and visit every now and then.' 

Normally a quick thinker, Remus wanted to slap himself for sounding so unsure. It was just so early and the bandage on his forearm was doing very little to ease the pain of the bite. He’d have to see Poppy before classes started for another potion. 

'Blood disease? Is that a muggle thing?' James narrowed his eyes, suspicious. Who knew what exactly Remus’ grandfather had told James’ family about him and his mother?

'I mean, in the way that muggles can get it, yes.' Remus jabbered, 'But like, obviously wizards have blood too.'

'How does that even work? How does your blood get ill?' Sirius eyed them from the corner, staring at Remus with an arched eyebrow. 

'Don’t be daft.' 

If there was one thing Remus had learned in a week of living with boys his age, it was that when in doubt, an insult was always a safe move. Insults were the great equalizer among them. Most things were fair game and if you were too slow on the uptake, like a certain half-blood Remus and James had befriended, all too quickly you’d be on the wrong end of the joke. 

'Her blood’s not ill, it just doesn’t work right. It makes too many of the blood cells.' 

That was the lie, and it wasn't a particularly well-crafted one either, seeing as Remus could only remember bits and pieces of the disorder his mother had described.

'Cells?' James asked, all suspicion giving way to curiosity. 

'It’s too early for this,' was all Remus offered in explanation. For all of magic’s advancements, wizards were completely oblivious when it came to science. Remus’ father said that some wizards didn’t believe in it at all. 

'Peter, what’s a cell? Is that a muggle thing?' 

'Sort of?' Peter offered. Remus guessed that he had some exposure to muggle schooling, though he was quite guarded when it came to discussions of home life (secretly, Remus suspected that Peter’s mother was a muggle and his wizard father had skipped out on them).

James took it upon himself to continue pestering Peter, despite the boy’s efforts to avoid answering. 

'What do you mean invisible? Why can’t we just make them bigger?' 

Remus was pleased, to say the least, that James had moved on from questioning him about his mam’s mysterious disease. He used Peter’s butchered explanation of microbiology as an opportunity to slip into the bathroom and get dressed without the others noticing. 

After removing his nightshirt, he dared take a look at the wound beneath the bandage. Slowly, he pinched the fabric and pulled back just a little too see the angry red flesh there, marred by his teeth. Most of the bandage was saturated with blood, Remus guessed the clotting spell wore off sometime in the middle of the night. He heard voices rising in the dormitory and decided he better get to Madam Pomfrey soon. 

'You know that most of the people here are half-bloods, right?' James shouted, and Remus once again found himself being used as an example. 'You can’t just say stuff like that!' 

Peter, backed against the wall far from the two black-haired boys. He scurried over to Remus. 

'What happened?' 

'Sirius said that muggles aren’t as clever as wizards-I think? Or he called them simple? I don’t really know.' 

'I didn’t mean it like that! Just-you know-' Sirius struggled against the words, against his temper. '-ugh! I don’t hate muggles and I don’t care about blood!'

Remus glanced at the clock above the door and muttered to Peter that he had to ask Madam Pomfrey about his mam’s treatment. It was an obvious lie, but Peter didn’t seem to notice or care. 

'I can go with you?' He whispered as the other two boys aimed their wands at one another.

'Oi,Potter!' Remus shouted, just as they opened the door. 'See you in Charms!'

Against his better judgement, Remus let Peter escort him to Poppy’s. On the walk there, he asked about Remus’ mam.

'My step-dad’s got diabetes--is it anything like that?' 

'Not really...no. Not at all.' 

'Oh. Okay.'

Remus didn’t know how to talk to anyone his age. Years of only interacting with his parents had left him with no real understanding of how to relate with his cohort. Talking to Poppy was easy, she reminded Remus so much of his mother. Talking with Peter felt pointless. It was like they were trying to meet somewhere in the middle but kept falling short. 

When James was there, it was easy. James would make some quip on one of their intelligence and all Remus had to do was join in, or call him some colourful word he’d heard his mam shout over the phone. But Peter was so shy and puny that it felt cruel to pick on him without James there.

'So...do you listen to any muggle music?' 

'We-uh-we don’t really have a record player or a radio, but sometimes the shop across the street does.'

Remus didn’t know how to respond to that. It did though, for the most part, confirm Remus’ suspicions. Peter tried to cloak his accent by imitating James and he was damn good at it, too, a natural mimic. Remus wished he wouldn’t try so hard. It was embarrassing and dishonest. Although, who was he to judge someone else’s dishonesty?

'I like the Beatles,' Peter said after a beat of silence. Finally, something Remus could work with. 

'My mam loves the Beatles.' Remus' chest tightened at the thought of his mother humming along to ‘Norwegian Wood’ as she made breakfast, singing ‘Blackbird’ to him as he fell asleep after the full moon.

The two of them talked about the Beatles and radio stations for the rest of the walk. The only time Remus heard the radio was in the car, and even then, all the stations were different in Wales. But the younger boy seemed content to spend the rest of the walk trying to describe some song by The Zombies he loved but couldn’t remember the name of. From Peter's butchered rendition of it, Remus recognised it as ‘She’s Not There’, but decided to let him keep describing it. They didn’t have anything else to talk about anyways. 

Peter waited for him outside the hospital wing entrance while Poppy spelled a fresh bandage around the bite. 

'I’ve been experimenting with a new clotting potion.' She tied off the bandage and Remus shrugged his shirt back on. 'It should be more effective and help numb the wound, but it also may be the foulest thing you’ll ever taste.'

'I think I can handle it.' Remus laughed, and was rewarded by a wide smile on the matron’s face.

The potion was, in fact, the worst thing Remus had ever tasted. But it kept the wound numb for most of the day, which was better than the muggle pain relievers, Sudocrem, and menthol salves he was used to.

‘If you can’t keep your breakfast down, if you feel nauseous or feverish at all you are to report to me immediately. Are we clear?’

‘Yes, Madam,’ he said with a small, guilty nod. There was no way he was going near breakfast. Not this early in the morning, not this soon after the full.

As he and Peter walked to class, they were trailed by Peeves, who had yet to let go of his ‘loony, loopy Lupin’ rhyme. Remus was getting rather good at ignoring it, but he could tell Peter was on edge the entire walk to class. 

In Charms, James and Sirius were seated on opposite ends of the room, wearing expressions of pure malice. They stayed this way for the entirety of class, occasionally making faces at each other. 

'Miss McKinnon, it’s “ _ Lumos _ ”, with the closed “o” vowel,' Professor Flitwick tutted at Marlene, another First Year Gryffindor. 'Not “Lu-MUSS”, as you keep saying.'

'Well, it worked, didn’t it?' Marlene disputed. She spoke with a thick Scottish accent. 'And I don’t see you correcting anyone else’s pronunciation. It’s hardly fair--me and Mary are the only ones you’ve got problems with!'

The other girl blushed wildly at the attention as the rest of the students stared at her. She muttered with a lilting Irish cadence, 'it's fine, Marley. I'm no good with charms anyways.'

The easiest thing would have been to agree with the professor, but there was something intriguing about Marlene McKinnon. She was sharp and witty and knew nearly as much magic as James did. She was friendly too, she and her dormmates always smiled at him, Peter, and James. 

'Professor?' Remus asked, feeling bolder than he ever had. 

'Yes, Mr Lupin?' he sighed, using two fingers to rub circles at his temples. 

'Peter and I haven’t gotten the charm yet, and well, it does seem a bit like you’ve singled them out for some reason…' 

'Do you need help, Mr Lupin?' He asked, pointedly ignoring the other students’ shocked expressions. 

'I-er….sure.'

Remus might have made friends with Marlene that day, but on the way to their next class, James and Sirius started threatening to continue their duel from this morning, scaring her and Mary off. Instead, one of the other girls, the red-haired one, walked with him and Peter. 

'That was really nice of you,' she said, smiling shyly. The other girls walked a few feet in front of them, not once looking back. 'I know Flitwick doesn’t mean to, but he really does come off like an elitist sometimes.'

'I reckon that’s a Ravenclaw thing,' Peter added eagerly, thrilled that a girl was actually speaking to them. 'I’m Peter.'

'I’m Lily… Evans,' She added after a pause, loosely shaking Peter’s hand. 'And you?' 

'Remus… Lupin.' He mimicked her delivery, earning a shy smile. 

The three of them chatted about how they were adjusting to school, especially since all of them came from muggle backgrounds. As it turned out, Lily wasn’t really friends with her roommates and had yet to make friends in Gryffindor other than the prefects. Remus wasn’t sure they counted. He struggled to understand why Lily didn’t have that many friends; she was friendly, polite, funny, and dead clever. 

It wasn’t until they got to Potions that the reason for the other Gryffindors’ wariness became clear.

'Lily, what are you doing?' a Slytherin boy with long, stringy black hair hissed as they walked through the door. 

'I’ll um-I’ll see you later then…' She mumbled, offering Remus and Peter an apologetic smile, before taking a seat at the boy’s bench. 

'They’re in my House, Sev, I don’t know what you expect.' Remus heard her whisper, two benches in front of him and Peter. 

'Remember what I told you about mixing with the right people?' he whispered back. His tone was much gentler than before. 'That’s not them.'

'Just because Malfoy says you have to-'

'This isn’t about Lucius, okay? He’s just trying to look out for me, and  _ I’m  _ trying to do the same for you.'

He couldn’t hear the next part of the conversation because just then, Professor Slughorn entered the room in a wool black and green checkered suit. He started talking about the properties of lionfish spines, and Remus forgot about Lily’s conversation. 

*

**_Monday, 13 September, 1971_ **

There were a few things to note about Sirius Black when you were sharing a room with him. The first to mention should be that he was never quiet. He was either dead silent or screaming and there was no in between. Remus and Peter had yet to be on the receiving end of the screaming, but it was still a frightening thing to live with. 

Black would snap at them when they got too close in the hallways or took too long in the shower, but never yelled at them like he did James. Of course, perhaps that was a factor of James’ provocation or James’ propensity to yell right back, even louder like he thought it was a game. To him, it probably was. He treated Black like a nemesis, like a villain or a double agent in one of his  _ Cursebreaker Chronicles  _ books.

Black also yelled at the Fifth Year prefect nearly as often. He was the only other person who talked to him. All of the other prefects avoided him unless they were scolding or taking points; Gideon Prewett, however, hovered over Black like Remus’ mother after the full moon. He was always knocking on the dormitory door, supposedly to check in with the four of them, but it was clear it was just to check on Sirius.

‘Sod off!’ Black shouted. 

James, Peter, and Remus hung outside of the dormitory with their ears pressed to the door. 

‘Don’t be such a misery guts,’ Gideon replied softly. ‘You have to go down for dinner.’

‘I don’t  _ have  _ to do anything. You can’t make me.’

No parties present knew it at the time, but ‘you can’t make me’ would become Sirius Black’s catchphrase. Remus had no way of knowing how often he would be on the receiving end of that catchphrase, responding with an affectionate roll of his eyes or a playful punch on the shoulder. 

‘Actually I  _ can  _ make you. I’m a prefect.’ 

Years later, Remus would have many failures employing this line of reasoning. 

‘What are you going to do? Take points because I want to stay in bed?’

‘Yes. That’s exactly what I’ll do. Or I’ll give you detention because I can do that too,’ the prefect responded. 

‘He can’t really do that. Only professors and the head boy and girl can,’ James whispered. Remus supposed he knew from personal experience.

‘How would you feel about polishing silver everyday after class?’

‘You wouldn’t. That’s house elf work,’ Black spat. His voice lowered in volume. There was the flat sound of oxford soles hitting the stone floor, presumably Black getting out of bed. The three boys clamoured down the stairs and into the common room. 

Remus did not know what a house elf was, but there was no time to ask. They three of them dove behind the large settee in the centre of the room, watching curiously as Gideon led Black down the stairs, absently asking him about his classes. Black was still in his uniform, with the collar buttoned all the way and the tie neatly done. His robes were free of the wrinkles that marked James’, Remus’, and Peter’s. His hair was slicked back in a smooth ponytail at the base of his neck.

His eyes found the three of them instantly, dark and severe like storm clouds as he glared. 

‘What a nutter,’ James breathed out as they made their way to dinner, oblivious to any irony as he turned to Remus. ‘Right, Loony?’

*

**_Thursday, 16 September, 1971_ **

Most classes, Remus spent looking out the window, feeling out of his depth as the professor droned on about some magical nuance he couldn't begin to understand. He started to resent his father for giving up magic after he was bitten. It seemed so unfair to deny Remus the knowledge of that part of him. It seemed so unfair that it was somehow Remus’ own fault he didn’t know the first thing about being a wizard. 

He felt a tapping on his thigh. He looked down to see a folded piece of parchment in James’ hand. Wordlessly, he unfolded it. He was unfazed by its contents.Whatever war James had waged on Sirius Black only escalated throughout the month, and notes like these were common in every class. 

_ Oi. Look at Black.  _

James’ handwriting was that of someone who was taught to write in cursive, but made a point not to. Remus glanced at Black at the front of the room. His gaze was fixed on James. He looked away quickly, but Black’s attention had shifted to Remus now. 

Subconsciously, Remus’ hands came to his collar, making sure it was buttoned up all the way, his sleeves fastened down to the wrist. When he looked back, Black was still looking at him, a small smile on his lips. Or was it a sneer? His expressions were so subtle it was hard to tell the difference. 

_ What? _

Remus wrote back, his sloppy penmanship at a sharp contrast from James’. He couldn’t get used to writing with a quill, so his handwriting was full of ink blots and smudged letters. 

Remus watched James write. His chaotic left hand dragged across the parchment, leaving neat block letters.

_ He’s not taking any notes _ .  _ Think he’s planning something? _

Bewildered, Remus wrote back the obvious.

_ We’re not taking notes either.  _

James frowned, before grabbing the parchment and writing feverently. 

_ Well I’m not because I AM planning something. A prank. On Black. You interested? _

Was there a point in saying no? Remus had already maxed out on luck when James decided to give him the time of day. If he didn’t go along with it, James would just get bored of him and find someone else.

_ What did you have in mind? _

Remus wrote back and slid the parchment across the desk. He could feel Sirius’ eyes on the two of them, a shade of blue so pale they might as well have been grey. 

_ Do you have dungbombs in Wales? _

To which Remus responded quite honestly:

_ I don’t have anything in Wales.  _

*

**_Saturday, 18 September 1971_ **

Dungbombs, as it turned out, were exactly what the name suggested. James Potter, as it turned out, was exactly the sort of person stupid enough to set off twelve of them at once--in the trunk of someone they all shared a room with.

'I don’t know why I thought you had more sense than this,' Remus sighed, rubbing his hair against a towel, still having failed to rid himself of the putrid stench after an hour long shower. 

'You could have stopped me at any point,' James responded, still smelling of something between sulphur and mildew. 

'No, I bloody well couldn’t have!' Remus said, 'You didn’t tell me anything!'

'A warning would have been nice,' Peter lamented from his bed, where he was still waiting his turn to shower. 

'I gave a warning!'

'You said, and I quote: “Oi, lads, watch this!” and then I woke up to the sound of twelve dungbombs going off at once,' Remus huffed, scowling at James. He was still slightly disappointed he didn’t get to help plan the prank, as James had insinuated. Not that this could even be called a prank. It was just a general disaster. 

The whole dormitory smelled awful and Remus’ eyes wouldn’t stop watering. His father said that the lycanthropy heightened his senses, but normally it was only sounds that bothered him this much. He rubbed at his burning nose again and pressed the towel against it, hoping for some relief. 

'Would one of you like to get a prefect or should I?' a voice drawled with disinterested enunciation. Black stood in the doorway, dripping wet hair curtained around his face. It was the first time Remus had seen it out of a neat ponytail. 

'Gonna snitch on us then, Black?' James taunted. For some reason, he’d showered first despite being the whole thing being his fault. His hair was nearly dry now, loose curls already forming and reforming as he raked a hand through it. 

'Do you want the room to smell like this forever?'

'Depends. Would it make you go back where you belong?' 

Black’s face darkened at this. Even James recoiled, realising that was probably a step too far. Peter hovered in the doorway, like Remus, anxious to see how this would play out. The two boys stared at each other, stern brown eyes meeting cool grey, and Remus couldn’t say how long they sat in the tense silence. 

Then everything seemed to happen at once. Peter was clamouring out of the way, jumping onto the nearest bed as Sirius lunged at James, shouting obscenities and wizarding slurs Remus had never heard before. James’ head smacked against the floor with a thud. 

The two boys were a tangle of dark hair and long limbs. The ghostly pallor of Black’s skin against the warm russet of James’. Remus stood frozen before he heard the sound of breaking glass and then he was moving not entirely of his own accord. His arm was still sore from the full moon. The delicate layers of newly healed skin tore painfully as he pulled Black off of James. 

The body in his arms was shaking and Remus was terrified that Black was going to turn around, that he was going to hit  _ him _ . But then the sound caught up with the movement and a warm, mirthy laugh replaced the stunned silence of the room. 

Remus’ grip slackened and he released the other boy, who was doubling over in a fit of laughter now. James clamoured backwards and onto his heels, licking at the blood on his lower lip and staring at Black in shock. 

'Did you-did you just-' Black wheezed, ' _Did you just_ _hit me with your glasses?_ ' 

James’ cheeks took on a dark rosy colour at that. Nevermind the fact that the shattered lens of his glasses were stuck in Black’s hair, clinging to the dark strands. Remus watched as some of the finer shards fell to the floor as he gasped for air between laughs. 

'I-that’s not-' James started, running a hand through his hair as he struggled for the words, 'you would’ve too!'

'I most certainly would not have!'

Remus tiptoed around the pair to sit with Peter on his bed so he could get a better look. He had never seen Black smile before. At least not like this, wide and toothy, the corners of his lips stretching as far as they’d allow. His eyes crinkled up at the corners with the movement, and Remus couldn’t help but think how  _ odd  _ joy looked on him. 

Sirius Black was like one of those sickly looking boys in Victorian paintings. His complexion forever alabaster, his face forever stern, eyes forever intense. He wasn’t meant to have pointy canines that showed when he grinned or any sort of warmth to his laugh. 

'No you probably would’ve reached for your wand,' said James darkly, kneeling on the ground, his hands feeling around for the broken frames. 

'Actually, at the moment my wand is...er-out of service, shall we say.'

Peter gasped out loud, expressing Remus’ internal reaction, when Black handed James the wire frames, kicking glass shards out of his way. James pulled out his own wand, muttering a quick spell to repair them before replacing them on the bridge of his nose. He squinted up at Black, and the pale, uncalloused hand he was offering. 

'What d’you mean out of service?'

'As in my cousin’s boyfriend stole it and now it is being dissected by a gaggle of Slytherins in the dungeons.'

'Reckon they’ll give it back?' James asked, taking the offered hand and letting himself be helped up. 

Remus turned to Peter, whiplashed from just witnessing the interaction. Peter shrugged and turned his attention back to the pair of boys.

'Decidedly not. At least not unless I tell Professor McGonagall.'

'You haven’t told her yet?'

'No.' Black rubbed the back of his neck, 'I’ll be in trouble when I do.'

'Why?' James asked, leaning in towards Sirius so they were barely inches apart. Remus wondered if Black found James’ closeness as unnerving as he did, if he could also detect the faint scent of dew on his skin. 

'After Potions yesterday, I may or may not have turned Snape and Avery blue.'

'That was you?'

Three very important things were discovered in the aftermath of that statement. 

The first being that the most direct path to James Potter’s heart was not trust or admiration, but was, in fact, the ability to turn someone blue. The second, that Sirius Black was trying very hard not to be like his family. The third and arguably the most important, was that if Gideon Prewett caught you trying to sneak into another House’s common room to retrieve a stolen wand after curfew, two and one half points would be lost and you would wake up with said wand on your bedside table.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> October ‘71, Part One: Secret passages, half-truths, and sworn enemies.

**_Friday, 1 October, 1971_ **

Remus took to the library soon after James began to hang out with Sirius. When the two of them were together, it was like he and Peter didn’t even exist. James and Sirius seemed to operate on a level that the rest of them couldn’t even aspire to. And then when James wasn’t around--if he was watching quidditch practice or dragging Peter off to who knows where--Sirius would acknowledge Remus, and that was actually much worse than being ignored. 

It wasn’t that Remus didn’t like Sirius, it was more that he didn’t know what to say to him. He was still nervous around him, still unsettled by the things James said about his family. Well, the things everyone said about his family. The Blacks were known for bigotry, for looking down on anyone with even a drop of muggle blood in them. Remus shuddered to think of what they’d say about him, a half-blood werewolf. 

Not to mention they were also wealthy. Old money, with a big house somewhere in London. Sirius’ accent was something you’d hear on broadcast television, clear and militant with its enunciation. It was foreign and intimidating. 

Remus preferred the library’s all-consuming quiet and Madam Pince’s silent judgement to James’ chaos and Sirius’ unsettling indifference.

He started reading more than just the week’s homework assignments and began educating himself more on the wizarding world. He read books on wizarding currency and politics, he read about the history of blood status and the pureblood families (he steered clear of the books on werewolves, feeling unready to embark on that just yet).

James took it upon himself to poke fun at all the time Remus’ spent reading, joking that he’d end up needing glasses, too. Peter started pretending to read whenever Remus was around, feeling he needed to prove his intellect. Sirius tried to make conversation about whatever book Remus was carrying, but Remus couldn’t bring himself to even try to make friends with him. 

Sirius was exhausting. He was mercurial and short-tempered, taking everything as a challenge and an excuse to prove himself. Even if he didn’t mean to, he acted like he was better than everyone else. He talked down to Remus, Peter, and all the other students in their year. In fact, it seemed that James and Gideon Prewett were the only ones immune to Sirius’ judgement. His lack of tact wasn’t anywhere near as charming as James’, and he was much quicker to point out the ways in which he thought others were inferior. 

'You don’t know who you’re talking to, mate.' James’ voice infiltrated the peace of the library and Remus watched as Madam Pince’s head snapped up from her book. She hushed the two Gryffindors, and gave Remus a pointed look as though he were responsible for the volume of his housemates. 

'I’ve been training for the team since I was born,' James continued, only slightly quieter than before. Pince rolled her eyes. 

'That doesn’t mean they’ll let you in next year. My cousin said most people don’t make it on the team ‘til Third or Fourth Year. Your scrawny arse wouldn’t stand a chance.'

'Well maybe that’s how just Slytherin does it ‘cause Gideon says I’ve a real shot at it next year. Plus Frankie’s only a Second Year and he just made Chaser.'

They were talking about quidditch, of course, because to some extent James was always talking about quidditch. Remus made the mistake of asking what quidditch was in their second week at school, sending James on an hour long tirade about the “greatest sport in existence, the crowning achievement of wizarding society, a keystone of your culture as a wizard,  _ Loony _ .” They’d only been in school for a month, and James had taken every opportunity he could to persuade the other three to accompany him to the Gryffindor practices. Only Peter agreed, as Remus was too busy with schoolwork and Sirius had an odd hatred of the sport. There were times when Remus did consider the offer seriously, if only to hang out with his friend without Sirius around. 

He re-read the sentence he’d been trying to get through since they entered the library. He wished they’d leave already.

'Loony!' At some point, Remus decided that the best course of action is to simply stop responding to “Loony” and hope that the others would grow tired of the nickname.

'Psst! Loony!' Sirius hissed this time. Remus lifted his gaze from the page with a withering look. 

'What?'

'Come here!' he said, and Remus shook his head, noticing Peter behind James for the first time. Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard Peter make a sound all week. He followed James and Sirius around silently, like a sycophantic shadow. 

'No thanks.'

'It’s important!' James added, as though that made the offer any more enticing. 

'I’m busy!' 

'No, it’s like really, really imp-' Sirius began before Pince’s shrill tones interrupted him.

'Mr Lupin,' was all she had to say before Remus was on his feet and following them out into the corridor. 

'What? I was doing homework!' Remus rubbed at his right temple. With the next full moon only two days away, he was feeling more irritable than ever. He didn’t have the patience to put up with James and Sirius. 

'We wanna show you something,' James said in a gentler tone. 'I really think you’ll like it.'

'Alright,' Remus sighed, and followed the three of them out of the library.

'Oh, it’s Potty wee Potter and his Black sheep!' Peeves exclaimed as they walked through the halls, hovering in front of them with a malicious smirk.

'Afternoon, Peeves.' Sirius greeted him coldly. 

'Have you heard the rumours then?' Peeves swirled around them, leaning against Sirius’ shoulder. 'I’ve heard a little something about Andromeda running off with a muggleborn, and a Hufflepuff at that!'

Sirius stiffened, swatting at the cackling poltergeist, who rolled over to Remus’ shoulder. 

'And Loopy Lupin! No signs of madness yet, but we’re waiting! Always waiting! Tell me, are you feeling nauseous yet?'

It was nonsense to anyone but Remus, whose head was pounding and joints were swelling with the waxing of the moon. The foul-mouthed apparition had figured out Remus’ secret within the first month of term, and had taken to gleefully taunting him whenever the opportunity arose. 

‘Oh please not  _ him, _ ’ Peeves lamented as they approached a large oil painting at the end of the hallway, ‘I  _ hate  _ him.’

‘Why, hello!’ The portrait greeted, tossing his hair over his shoulder and flexing his arms at the four of them, ‘Sirius you’ve brought friends!’

The man in the painting wore scarlet armour emblazoned with a gold dragon. 

‘They keep him down here so we don’t have to talk to him,’ Peeves whispered in Remus’ ear. 

‘Don’t listen to him!’ the portrait responded, ‘He’s had it out for me for centuries!’

‘Centuries?’ Remus asked.

‘Indeed! It was the noble and kind Headmaster Jewelen who had me commissioned in 1405, realising that a knight as noble as I deserved to be immortalised.’

‘You were part of a collection! And the least exciting tale of all! It’s no wonder he left you, you know.’ Peeves huffed before disappearing through the wall. 

‘Who?’ Peter asked feebly. 

‘Who?’ the portrait echoed, ‘Who! That blasted Green Knight! He left me was it--one hundred years ago! Hasn’t come back since.’

Remus had yet to discover what about this portrait was so interesting and important. After nearly an hour of conversation, he found out the portrait was of Sir Gawain of the Round Table, initially meant to depict his face-off with the Green Knight. Remus chatted with him about Tennyson’s  _ Idylls of the King  _ for a while and the knight told Remus all the ways in which it was a horrible misrepresentation. 

‘I like this one, Sirius,’ Sir Gawain said with a smile, ‘But I will leave you to your own crusades, young heroes.’

With that, the portrait swung open to reveal a long tunnel with no end in sight. There was a single torch lining the wall at where Remus assumed was the halfway point. Halfway to where, he couldn’t say. 

'Where does it go?' 

'We don’t know,' Sirius responded. 

'How did you even-?' Remus wondered how exactly they found this. They were a good bit past the ground level of the Astronomy Tower and they never had any reason to be in this part of the castle. Remus hadn’t even known this part of the castle existed. 

'Chocolate frog,' Sirius said, as though that explained everything. 

'C’mon let’s check it out.’' James leaned in close enough to where his hair brushed against Remus’ ear. It caught him off guard. Remus instinctually backed away. Unbidden images of Poppy’s outstretched hand came to his mind. He didn’t like being that close to other people. He wasn’t used to them, and their closeness overwhelmed him, constantly worried they could smell the blood on him, a stinging metallic scent that still made Remus’ nose twitch. Most of the wounds from September were healed, save for the bite, but God if the soreness didn’t linger. 

They walked into the tunnel, one after the other. Remus and Peter trailed slightly behind James and Sirius. His vision adjusted quickly, and he was able to make out vague markings along the walls. They looked like runes of some sort, like the petroglyphs he’d read about in one of his history books. 

'Sirius thinks it leads to Hogsmeade.’

'It doesn’t. That would be impossible.' The shack where he transformed was near Hogsmeade, and even after only walking the length of the tunnel there once, he knew it was farther then it seemed. He turned to face Sirius, who shrugged. He seemed more approachable than he did just days before. Less intense, perhaps a little more humble than Remus remembered. 

'The staircases move, Loony. Forgive me if a tunnel to the village is far-fetched.' 

The sounds of their shoes padding against the stone was oddly pleasant. Each one of their footsteps made a different sound. James’ and Sirius’ soles were newer, tougher, making a hollow sort of clacking sound. Peter’s was more akin to a shuffle, smooth and well-worn soles sliding against the floor. Remus’ own footsteps were practically inaudible. He tried to be as light-footed as possible. 

The footsteps reverbated against the cold stone and it would have been rather peaceful if Remus were travelling with anyone else. But James and Sirius had no affinity for anything peaceful or quiet. 

‘It could lead to Dumbledore’s office,’ James suggested.

‘His office in the Headmaster’s Tower? Unlikely.’

‘Too many bloody towers at this school.’ 

Remus agreed. Last week he’d gotten mixed up between the Herbology Tower and the Divination Tower, showing up to his Defence Against the Dark Arts class thirty minutes late. 

‘Hey Loony, look at this.’ Sirius said suddenly, turning around to face Remus with a smile. In spite of the dim light, Remus could make out the outline of his jaw, clenched tightly, almost as if he were nervous.

The tunnel forked off into two directions, one presumably running north, the other south. If they were near the Astronomy Tower, which Remus knew faced east because it was on the same side as Gryffindor Tower, where the sun-

‘Loony? Hello?’

‘Split up?’ Remus suggested absently. His mind was still running the numbers on the probability that the tunnel behind the portrait curved and they were actually facing east/west now. 

‘Yeah!’ Sirius responded, grabbing Remus by the elbow, just below the wound on his upper arm. ‘Why don’t we take the left and James and Pete can go right?’

‘Wouldn’t you rather-’ Remus stopped himself short after seeing the cheerful look on Peter’s face. It dawned on him that perhaps he was not the only one missing James since he started hanging out with Sirius. ‘Alright.’

He didn’t know how to talk to Sirius. 

‘What do you think is down here?’ 

“Here” was nearly two syllables the way Sirius said it and Remus found himself stifling the urge to laugh. It was completely unfounded, of course, and completely inappropriate. All at once, the absurdity of Hogwarts struck him with that one word. Not the absurdity of magic or talking portraits or even Sirius Black. No, what struck him was the realisation of what his life would have been without Dumbledore. 

He lived in a town with perhaps a hundred people, in a house falling apart at the seams. For all intents and purposes he left school at age ten. His father taught him, but what qualifications did Lyall have as an educator? Remus would have to sit for exams as a teenager if he wanted to do anything in the muggle world, relying on information his father deemed necessary to know. He’d have to do what his mother did, lose his twenties to revising and trying to feel as though the bustling crowds and interlocking grids of the city would eventually make room for him. 

But at Hogwarts, Remus was sitting in the same classrooms as James and Sirius, neither of whom would have to work a day in their lives if they didn’t want to. He was receiving the same education, the same opportunities as them and that reality was chilling. 

He’d spent maybe a month at the school in Llanelli and it wasn’t like this. The classrooms were smaller, with significantly less students. It was an odd mix of urban and rural children, all of them impacted by the growing population, the dark, lingering shadow of industrialisation. Some of them came in with clothes older than Remus, hand-me-downs that spanned generations. Some of them were slapped on the wrist for blurting out answers in Welsh, some of them, like Remus, hardly spoke at all. 

‘Remus?’ 

‘Oh, er-sorry. It’s probably just to the kitchens or something.’

‘You think so?’

‘Yeah.’ This was dreadful.

What they did find was the utility room, full of bustling creatures folding linens. House elves, Sirius called them. Remus was horrified by Sirius’ explanation of the creatures and even more so to find out that Sirius had one at home. 

They met up with James and Peter back at the fork where they initially diverged. The other two had found something far more exciting: three more forks in the tunnel and a room full of theatre props. 

Remus felt exceptionally uncomfortable about the whole night and his awkward conversation with Sirius. He was only marginally comforted by the soft, cheerful glow on Peter’s face. As ridiculous and petty as it was, he found himself hoping he would get a turn with James soon. 

*

**_Thursday, 7 October, 1971_ **

October’s full moon was worse than September’s. The bite on Remus’ arm hadn’t fully healed since the previous month; The wolf tore into the raw flesh with renewed fervour. He was painfully exhausted, even with all of the potions Poppy had forced down his throat. Splinters from the wooden walls of the shack stuck through the gash in the most painful spots. He’d already missed three days three days worth of classes and wasn’t looking forward to relying on Peter’s sloppy notes to catch up.

'Mending wounds isn’t a science, dear. It’s more of an art,' Poppy had advised him patiently, although every muggle would beg to differ. Medicine was quite possibly the largest branch of science, but he already learned his lesson when he tried to introduce James to microbiology. 

Then there was the matter of the scars he reopened. Poppy wasn’t sure how to go about healing those either. Apparently, healing magic wasn’t the straightforward, 'fix-all' solution he wanted it to be. He learned that his wounds were more difficult to heal because they were magical in nature--inflicted by a werewolf. Magic could easily heal wounds inflicted by non-magical sources, but magical wounds were more complicated, for reasons Remus didn’t yet understand. 

The only good news of the day was that he could return to the dormitory as long as he promised to get some rest; A foolish promise, as there was no such thing as rest in a room shared with James and Sirius. 

The moment he heard the boys ascending the stairs with a thundering stampede of footsteps, he pulled the duvet up over himself. He tried his best to conceal the mass of bandages wrapped around his upper arm. 

'Loony! You’re back!' James said cheerfully, tearing the curtains at his bedside open. Remus cringed at the sudden light, squinting up at the three rowdy boys in front of him. 

'I was sleeping, James.'

'Should’ve slept at home, Loony. We’ve got news.'

'Merlin, you look awful,' said Sirius, crinkling his nose in disgust.

'Cheers, Black,' he murmured, sinking further beneath the duvet. Perhaps he should’ve risked staying at the hospital another day.

'Anyways,' James moved on, struggling to maintain eye contact with Remus. 'We figured we’d fill you in on what you’ve missed.'

'Thank God.' Remus let out a breath of relief. 'I’ve been going mental thinking about the Transfiguration exam I missed.'

'Not schoolwork!' Sirius chided. 'You’ve missed much more important things than that stupid exam.'

'We are at war, Remus!' James took over and exchanged a glance with Sirius, wordlessly communicating.

'War? With who?'

'That nasty git Snivellus!' 

'I’m sorry-who?' Remus knew wizard names were a little strange, but naming a child Snivellus seemed cruel.

'Snape!' James exclaimed. 'That slimy Slytherin toad Severus Snape! He nearly hexed me and called Pete stupid!' 

Peter stiffened at this, clearly more affected by the insult than James understood. Remus felt bad for him--it couldn’t be easy with others always speaking for him. 

'And!' Sirius shouted, 'And he called you loony!' 

'You guys call me that all the time.'

'Yeah, but we don’t mean it!' James asserted. 

'We mean it in a nice way!' Peter echoed, also avoiding Remus' eyes. 

'It’s our thing!' Sirius concluded. 'Only we get to call you that!'

'Can’t no one call me that? Is that an option?'

'You’re missing the point, Loony,' James pressed, waving his hands about. 'The point is that Snivellus has insulted our collective honors! We can’t just let this slide! It would make us cowards!'

'And we’re not cowards!' Sirius finished. You’d think they would’ve been rousing troops for battle based off the proud, smug looks they wore. 

'I can be a coward today, can’t I? I’m tired.'

Couldn’t they wait until tomorrow for revenge? Or let go of it, if possible? He didn’t really like the idea of starting an ongoing feud with a Slytherin this early in the year. Perhaps next month he’d feel different, but right now he didn’t see the point. If anyone’s honor was actually insulted, it was Peter’s. And they all knew Peter would rather die than confront anyone. 

'No! Sleep when you’re dead, Lupin! You’re a Gryffindor and therefore honour bound to defend your honour!' Sirius declared. 

'I’ll still be a Gryffindor when I’m dead, you know.'

'Oh, but then it won’t matter. Because then Snivellus will be dead too and we won’t get our revenge!' Remus winced as the dark-haired boy threw himself down on the edge of the bed. 

The duvet pulled down slightly with the added weight, and Remus froze. The top of his bandage was peeking out over the top of the covers but no one seemed to notice. Sirius continued with his monologue on ‘Gryffindor values’ as though nothing had changed, except now James was looking at Remus with an odd expression, furrowed brow and mouth opening like he was about to interrupt. His eyes widened just briefly before he turned to Sirius and said: 

'Let’s take revenge tomorrow. Loony’ll be no good to us if he’s half asleep anyway.' 

And that was when Remus remembered he was wearing a t-shirt. Without the protection of his school collar, there was a jagged scar visible at the base of his throat. The kind of scar no eleven year old boy should have, the kind that looked fatal (and almost was).

He took another sleeping draught. Poppy made him promise to save it until the night, but he was desperate to sleep off the frantic beating of his heart and the alarms of  _ he knows, he knows, he knows _ in his head.

*

**_Tuesday, 19 October, 1971_ **

James didn’t bring up the scar, leading Remus to believe that he might have overreacted. Although he also didn’t ask any more questions regarding his mam’s so-called 'blood disease' either. Knowing James, this was even more damning. 

Remus let talk of Snape take over the dormitory, grateful for the shifted focus. Mostly, it was just talk. They would make faces at him in the hallways, whisper about him in Potions class, but there was yet to be another altercation.

At least until today.

Perhaps ‘war’ wasn’t too far off. The look Severus Snape gave the four of them as he stared them down verged on murderous. The pale autumn sun hardly touched him, his shoulders square and steady. In the same school-issued cloak, Remus shivered violently, but perhaps that could be blamed on the moon. Everything could be blamed on the moon if he thought about it long enough. 

Snape’s cheeks were tinged pink, his skin that same alabaster finish as Sirius’. They were the sorts of boys who didn’t get freckles in the summer, who wouldn’t get blemishes in adolescence. 

'What do you want, Potter?' he growled, strands of straggly black hair blew into his face. The breeze whipped the five boys’ cloaks around them. The rustling of the crisp fabric was not unlike the rustling of the red and orange leaves falling into pools at their feet. 

'Who said I wanted anything at all, Snivellus?' said James evenly. Next to Snape, he looked like a harbinger of autumn, warm brown skin and dark hair curling against a woolen Gryffindor jumper. 

'Normally, when you  _ throw  _ something at someone, you’re looking for attention.'

'James is always looking for attention,' Remus muttered, earning a swift kick in the calf from Sirius (‘Whose side are you on?’ he mouthed. Remus gave an inconclusive nod in response).

'Throw something?' James echoed, gazing into the distance as he scratched the back of his head. 'Oh, you mean the acorn!'

With that, James threw another seed. It landed on the Slytherin signia on Snape’s robes. 'See, I was just practicing my aim-' Another one, right on his forehead. '-I’m planning on playing Chaser next year.'

'All good practice, don’t you think, Black?' He turned to Sirius, who nodded in agreement. 

'Oh, absolutely. I was just telling James the other day, you know, how important it is to-'

'Severus, are these imbeciles bothering you?' A blonde Slytherin approached them from the East Tower with long, even strides. He spoke a lot like Sirius: the bored, upper class accent. Only his voice was much deeper, rendering it far more intimidating. He took extra care of the word 'imbeciles,' dragging it out to four syllables as he eyed the four of them.

'I believe they were just leaving, Lucius,' Snape said coldly, narrowing his dark eyes at James. 

'I should say so, for their sake,' the Seventh Year droned. He laid a protective hand on Snape’s shoulder. 'Gryffindor’s already behind fifty points.'

'Sorry, I didn’t realize Slytherin owned this tree,' James goaded, gesturing to the grounds. 'Oh right, you don’t. We’re not doing anything wrong by being here.'

'You assaulted me!' Snape spluttered, indignant.

'I threw an acorn,' James said flatly, rolling one of the seeds between his index and his thumb. Remus, with crossed arms, hid behind Sirius. He envied how effortlessly casual and collected James managed to look all the time. 'Forgive me if that’s considered assault these days.'

'Well, Slytherins  _ are  _ objectively weaker. More frail, you know?' Sirius added, 'Reckon by Second Year all their muscles atrophy from laziness, or sorry, what is it you say, Malfoy? Oh, right “cunning.”’

'I’m not certain you’ve thought this through, Black,' Malfoy sneered. 'What would your mother say if she knew about the sorts of friends you’ve been making? The things you’re saying about your heritage? Your culture?'

He put a careful emphasis on this word, ‘culture,’ like it meant something more than the other boys could discern.

'She’d say you’re still not good enough to marry Narcissa,' Sirius retorted with a grimace, otherwise unfazed by the boy’s comments. 'And that you’re still a disgrace for losing that badge.'

Malfoy stiffened, seething with something he wouldn’t dare express so publicly. Remus watched with unfettered curiosity as his brow smoothened, blankness returning to his expression after screwing it up so tightly. That was something Sirius did often, and he wondered if it was a pureblood thing or a Slytherin one.

'I would tread carefully, if I were you, Sirius. Losing my prefect badge is quite minor in comparison to some of your family’s skeletons.'

With that, the Slytherins departed. Malfoy maintained his firm grip on Snape’s shoulder.

'Let’s go back to the Tower,' Sirius said. His knuckles went white in his clenched fist.

He and James walked ahead of Remus and Peter, whispering fervently, with words Remus could hear distinctly but tried to drown out. 

He always thought war would be more strategic and exhilarating than tossing acorns and cryptic threats regarding mothers, but then, most things weren’t what they ought to be where Sirius Black was concerned.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween ‘71, featuring a witch dressed as a witch and the music of Tim Buckley.

**_Sunday, 31 October, 1971_ **

The four of them spent the past two weeks plotting their revenge against Severus Snape and arguing over Halloween costumes. The big event, or the prank, as they’d come to call it, was set for the Hallowe’en feast, where the whole school would see. Against Remus’ better judgement, he had a large hand in the planning. It wasn’t his fault, he maintained; James’ and Sirius’ ideas left a lot of room for improvement. Sirius was delusional when it came to his own magical ability and threw out wildly unrealistic ideas, while James’ ideas could only occur in highly specific and highly unlikely circumstances. Peter was useless and treated every new idea like it was better than the last. This left Remus as the only one capable of planning something feasible. 

The idea was simple: Snape would kiss a rat. All it required was a bit of transfiguration and a lookout. They just had to wait for the right moment to transfigure Snape’s goblet. Sure, it was juvenile, but the scene was delightfully entertaining just to imagine. 

Unfortunately, the matter of costumes was trickier to solve. Remus and Peter threw out brilliant suggestions that the other two rejected because they were too muggle (the two half-bloods made an oath that they would get James and Sirius to do the Beatles with them eventually).

None of them ended up agreeing on a costume, each deciding to do their own thing. Sirius had decided to go as some wizard serial killer Remus had never heard of, James as a quidditch player, and Peter as a ghost. Remus had convinced his father to mail him his blue button-down, a bottle cap, and his Tim Buckley record so Remus could use it as reference for his costume.

He knew his mother would be grateful for this, so she could hear another album on repeat. She was probably the one who mailed it, in spite of her aversion to owls. He knew his father would be charmed at the idea, enough to let go of the record for at least a few months. None of the others knew who Tim Buckley was, not even Peter. 

The only real effort he had to make for the costume was getting his hair to achieve the same volume. Unfortunately, James and Sirius had taken complete control of the shared bathroom for the past two hours, shooing him and Peter out whenever they tried to go in.

The common room was full of students, all with varying degrees of complexity in their dress. Most of them were older, with the exception of Lily, who didn’t seem to be wearing any sort of costume. She sat in her usual corner of the Room, a book in her lap, as usual, completely alone. The other First-Year Gryffindor girls were at the other end of the room, engaged in what looked like a vicious game of Gobstones. 

She was always alone, at least when she wasn’t with Snape. But Remus struggled to think of any times he’d seen her with other Gryffindors beyond that one day she walked with him and Peter. Not that Remus talked to anyone other than his dorm mates, but the other Gryffindors were friendly with him, at least. Marlene McKinnon often asked him about his day on the way to Charms and when he ran into Mary MacDonald in the library, they would make pleasant small talk. But none of the girls ever spoke to Lily. They didn’t even sit with her in classes. 

Remus wasn’t sure why he was so interested all of the sudden. He told himself it was just because she was a pretty girl, so obviously he would be interested in her. No part of him believed that. He was so invested in her loneliness because he recognised it. The way she curled in on herself, never daring to lift her eyes from the page in front of her, was all too familiar to him.

He knew that, if not for James Potter, he would be the same. With that in mind, Remus summoned the courage to talk to her. 

As he approached her, he discovered that she actually was dressed up. She wore a long black dress and a pointed witch’s hat. It was only when he saw the black cat resting in her lap that he realised it. 

'Mind if I sit here?' He asked, gesturing to the loveseat adjacent to hers. 

'What? Oh-um, sure.' She straightened her posture immediately, green eyes widening in surprise as he sat down.

'I love your costume!' He said, raising his voice over the older students’ shouts of victory at an Exploding Snap match. 'It’s dead clever.'

'Really? Thanks!' She beamed at him. 'None of my roommates got it, but that’s alright. Well-' She paused. 'Mary might’ve but she didn’t say anything. I figured at least a few people would find it funny.'

'No, it’s brilliant, really.' Remus felt himself blushing under her gaze. 'Is that your cat?'

'Oh, no, no.' She laughed, the tips of her ears turning pink. 'I transfigured it from a pillow. I’m deathly allergic to cats.'

Remus was speechless--how had an eleven year old managed that? Even James and Sirius couldn’t do that, and they were at the top of the class in nearly everything. 

'Are you wearing a costume? I can’t quite tell.'

'I’m supposed to be this muggle musician, Tim Buckley.' He held up the record for reference. 'My hair’ll be better, though.'

'I could do it if you want? I actually brought some product from home, just in case…' She began excitedly, but trailed off awkwardly. 

'Really? You’d do that?'

'Yeah!' She smiled brightly. 'Let me go grab my bag!' 

When she came back down, he sat down on the floor in front of her. 

'Can I see it?' She asked, reaching for the album. 

'Yeah, just be careful--it’s my dad’s.' 

'Well let’s see if he’s got good taste.' She gently took the record out of its sleeve. 'Check this out.'

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sewing needle. Then, she muttered an incantation and the record started spinning mid-air, the needle gliding neatly along the ridges. Faintly, music began playing. 

'That’s brilliant! Where’d you learn to do that?' 

'One of the Ravenclaw prefects showed me. She and some other students are developing a bunch of spells to use with muggle technology. I could show you a couple if you want?' She smiled and Remus nodded enthusiastically. Being able to listen to records the way he did at home would be such a comfort, especially after transformations. 

'So I think I’ll brush it a little since you’ve already got some of the curls he has.' She muttered, grabbing a section of Remus’ hair. 

'You don’t have to do this, by the way-' He started talking, words getting lost against a stuttered apology. 

'No, no it’s alright! I’m actually really glad you asked.' She said, combing against the grain of his hair. 'My sister and I normally do each other’s hair for Halloween every year and I was missing that this year... not that you’re like my sister, obviously.' She added hastily. 'Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say. What I meant was I don’t mind helping you.' 

'That’s okay. Sorry about that.' Remus flushed with embarrassment. This was the longest conversation he’d ever had with a girl his own age and it was already a disaster. 

'What’s your sister like?' he asked, desperate to push the conversation in a new direction. 

'Oh, she’s a lot to handle. A little older than me...not that she acts like it….' She muttered the last part under breath. Remus realised he’d hit a sore subject. 

'You know what?' she said, pausing for a moment to spray Remus’ hair. 'I like this song. He kind of sounds like a woman but in a nice way, I think.'

'Yeah, I suppose.' Remus laughed and made a mental note to tell his father she said that. 

'You said he’s American? I don’t think we have any American records at home…' She drifted off, and began covering Remus’ hair in a cloud of product. 

'How’s that?' She handed him a small compact. 

Remus looked at himself, at the fluffy mop of hair on his head and his father’s oversized denim shirt, and smiled. He didn’t really look like Tim Buckley--he definitely wasn’t that handsome--but he did look like a different person and that was enough. 

'That’s great!' He ran hand through it, only to be met with sticky product. 'Cheers, Lily!' 

'I was wondering if-if you wanted to head down to the feast together?' she asked, shyly meeting Remus’ eyes. 

He glanced back up at the stairway, wondering if he should check on the others first. He knew he’d get an earful from Sirius no matter what (he could already hear it perfectly- 'And you abandoned us to sit with her? She hangs around Snivellus!').

But then again, Lily seemed so lonely and he couldn’t bear it. Besides, it could be nice to have another friend. One who wasn’t quite so loud and volatile. 

'Alright.' Remus shot another guilty look up to the stairs. The feast was starting soon anyway, and if they weren’t ready…

'I’ll just go put the record back up in our room real quick!' he said, deciding he might as well see what the others were up to. 

Without looking back, Remus sprinted up the stairs and into their dorm to find a scene so sad he wanted to laugh. Peter sat on the edge of James’ bed, his bed sheet thrown over him and swinging his legs out beneath him. 

'Are they still in there?' It had been three hours since the two of them had started getting ready. Peter nodded. Or rather, the white lump of fabric on James’ bed bobbed its head. 

'I’m going to go to the feast then...if you wanted to come?' Remus didn’t really want to bring Peter along--it would make all the conversation awkward and Peter had a tendency to clam up anytime a girl was within three feet of him, but he’d feel bad if he didn’t at least offer. 

'Can’t,' Peter said glumly, the white lump shaking its head. 'Sirius said he’d spell the sheet so I could see without having to cut holes in it.'

'Why didn’t you-?' Remus wanted to ask why he was still wearing the sheet over his head if he couldn’t see, but decided against it. There was no way he could get through this conversation without laughing at him. Quickly, he set the record down on his bedside, forcing the laughter down. 

'Alright, then. I guess I’ll see you down later?' The white lump nodded again and Remus ran down to meet Lily. 

They mostly talked about music on the walk there. Lily only liked two of her parents’ records:  _ Please Please Me _ and The Hollies’  _ Super Hits _ . Remus felt a little silly talking about his parents’ extensive collection--from obscure American folk to every Beatles’ album out there. It was their one luxury. They generally bought second-hand records with only a few exceptions. Lyall once told Remus that they spent only a fraction of what they saved by relying on heating charms on records. Of course, his parents would have said anything to hold onto their vinyl habit. It was the one material expense that they couldn’t part with. Sometimes Remus felt like it was the only thing that brought them joy. 

Lily hung onto every word of Remus’ description of his mother’s old gramophone from the 1930s. She thought it was charming how the front door shutting caused the needle to skip. Remus made sure to remember that next time his mother cursed herself for slamming it and scratching a record. 

The longer the night dragged on, the more relieved Remus was that he agreed to go to the feast with Lily. They were nearly finished eating and there was still no sign of James, Sirius, or even Peter. He supposed it meant the prank was off then, which Remus was a little sad about. There was a certain rush that he got from causing chaos. It was indulging the part of him that wished he was more like James. But it was okay, he made a new friend, which was more important than a silly prank. 

'Do you have any siblings, Remus?' 

'No… I don’t even have cousins.' Remus wasn’t really sure how one was supposed to talk about family. Peter would go into a panic anytime someone brought it up, no one dared ask Sirius about his family, and James’ parents were so loving he wouldn’t shut up about it. Remus gathered that he had a pretty average family--minus his late grandfather. He knew his mother didn’t really have much family left after her parents died; all her siblings died in childhood. His father’s family was an even bigger mystery. ‘At least I don’t think I do.’

'I wish I could say the same,' she sighed, winding a strand of auburn hair around her finger. 'Every Christmas my house is overrun with cousins and uncles whose names I can’t remember for the life of me.' 

Privately, Remus thought that that sounded rather pleasant. He always liked the idea of a big family and siblings. Someone to keep him company when his parents were feeling out of it. 

Lily opened her mouth to say something, but stopped when they heard a shriek from the Hufflepuff table. A pale green fog began to fill the Hall and all conversations tapered out. They turned to the Headmaster for some indication that this was meant to happen. Dumbledore shrugged in response, taking another sip from his goblet. 

Soon enough, people started talking again, assuming it was just part of the decor. But then there were screams, and Remus peered over the edge of the table to see all of the Slytherins jumping up onto their benches. Some of them actually looked green, the way Remus did when he was nauseous. 

'What’s going on?' he heard Lily ask, though he couldn’t see her through the thick layer of fog. Suddenly he felt something brush up against his leg--something furry and slimy, was it? The Hall filled with screams and the tables began to shake as students clarmored onto them. Remus reached down and wrapped a hand around whatever creature was scurrying beneath the table. Only, it wriggled out of his grasp and Remus saw that there were hundreds of them--hundreds of little rodents scurrying across the floor. 

He climbed up onto the chair, trying to focus on where Lily was. The red of her hair stood out against the green fog, but he could see that she was already jumping from table to table, probably trying to get to Snape. 

Snape. 

And that’s when Remus realised what was going on. Feelings of hurt and rage bubbled up in his chest. How could they do this without him? Why wouldn’t they have even told him? And where  _ were _ they? 

Remus tried to focus his vision on the origin of the infestation, the Slytherin table, and see if he could make out James or Sirius. It was too foggy though, and all he could see was Lily, brandishing her wand, casting a ventus jinx to dispel the fog. Then there were cries, unmistakably from James, of 'Plague the Second!' and 'Go on! Save yourself!' 

He could see James suddenly coming into the clear spot from Lily’s wand. He was painted a sickly green, covered with fake (at least Remus hoped they were fake) lesions and boils. Remus wrinkled his nose and turned around to head back to the exit. Wading through currents of rodents was worth not having to witness this betrayal any longer. He waved a hand against the fog, trying to find the step of the bench. 

'For the record...' Suddenly, there was someone behind Remus. He could feel their breath against his ear. 'When I say I can do something, I mean it.' 

Sirius’ voice was low and taunting. Is that what this was? Some type of “I told you so” prank on Remus for doubting his spellwork?

'Sod off, Black,' he said, shoving an arm against the figure behind him and jumping down onto the ground. The rodents had seemed to congregate near the Headmaster’s table and Dumbledore started throwing them bits of food from his plate. 

' _ Ventus _ !' Remus shouted, mimicking the spell Lily did and hoping for the best. A gust of wind cleared a path through the fog to the doorway and he didn't think he would ever be used to the flood of magic in his veins. The full moon was the day after tomorrow, and he shouldn’t have to put up with Sirius Black’s ego in the days leading up to it. 

He didn’t look back at Sirius, or Lily, or wherever James was at. He felt upset and abandoned. The rats might not have poured out of his goblet, but Remus couldn’t help but feel like he was the butt end of the joke.

He didn’t want to go up to the dormitory, because that’s where they knew he’d go. But more than anything, he wanted to listen to his father’s record and lie on the floor, pretending he was at home. He sprinted to the fat lady’s portrait and shouted the password at her. No one was in the common room; they were all still navigating James’ and Sirius’ ‘Plague the Second’. 

Sirius didn’t seem the type to run after someone whose feelings he’d hurt, but Remus didn’t want to take his chances. He needed to cool down first and give the anger time to recede.

He paced the dormitory, trying to figure out the best place to go. 

He settled on the hallway behind Sir Gawain’s portrait, even if that meant talking to the chatty knight for ten minutes beforehand. 

He was quick, darting through the crowd of Hufflepuffs on their way to their common room. He panicked every time he saw someone with long dark hair, mistaking nearly four different girls for Sirius. 

When he arrived at the portrait, Sir Gawain was in a mood. He opened the hallway without saying so much as a word to Remus. 

'Lumos,' Remus whispered. He gazed up at the tunnel ahead of him. He made it to the first fork, the one he and Sirius went down back in October. At this point, his knees were already aching in anticipation of Tuesday’s full moon. His ankles cracked loudly with each step, the sound echoing through the hall. 

He thought about the stone cellar back at home as he lied down against the floor. November was imminent. He thought about his mother riding the train into work tomorrow, as winter forced itself upon the country. She always hated the cold. 

He cast the spell Lily showed him earlier and got the record spinning on the third try. When the soft guitar began playing, Remus wanted to cry. His chest was heavy, leaden with a sudden bout of homesickness. He missed his mother’s voice, the constant background noise of her humming beneath her breath. He missed his father’s quiet company. He even missed sitting out in the garden, pining for the rusted bicycle in the shed, tuning out his parents’ whispered arguments. 

He missed the predictability of his old life, the endless ebb and flow of the Welsh countryside. The music, the soft glow of the Tiffany lamps, and the creaking of the floorboards every time someone took a step. 

He wondered what his father thought about when he did this. Did he let his mind drift off to the things that made him feel comfortable? Or did he dwell on the darker thoughts? Maybe he let his mind go completely blank, something Remus could never manage. 

He shut his eyes and pictured his father’s face as he lay on the old, rotted carpet. Sunlight crept in from the window, shadowing the lines of his face. The curve of his forehead, the bump in his nose, the greying strands of his beard, turned silver in the light. The vacant look in his eyes as he mouthed along to a song he’d already heard twice that day. 

_ Once I was a soldier _

_ And I fought on foreign sands for you _

The record crooned and Remus tried to imagine how his father heard the words. What comfort did he find in them? For Remus, the music was just the soundtrack to their quiet days at home. 

Thoughts of his father receded, and Remus’ mind wandered back to the impending full moon. It always did. He existed on a basis of waxing and waning, lived in the space between the crescent and the whole. The last time felt like it was only a week ago. The bite was healed, the memory was sore. In a few days he would tear out that skin again, with claws and teeth and madness.

'Loony?' Sirius’ voice drifted down the hallway, and Remus hated how quickly Sirius had found him. He hoped it was just Sirius, at least. He didn’t have the patience to see James. If he saw James, he’d feel guilty because part of him (most of him) still wanted to impress him. 

'Loooooony!' The voice echoed, bouncing back against the stone.

'Leave me alone!' Remus sat up, pulling his knees up against his chest and leaning back against the wall.

'Oh come on, Remus!' The voice drew closer, accompanied by footsteps. 'We were going to tell you! You were the one who left us for Evans!'

There it was. Remus knew he was going to say that. The predictability was a small comfort. 

'Honestly, you don’t need to-' Sirius stopped in his tracks, eyes drifting straight past Remus and onto the record, spinning midair. Like James, he was painted a pale green with grotesque lesions covering the left half of his face. Oily tendrils of black hair hung over his forehead, and Remus wanted to look anywhere else as the boy approached him. 

'What  _ is  _ that?'

'It’s a record and I thought I told you to leave me alone.' Remus felt like a child, sitting on the floor looking up at Sirius, who stood as tall and proud as always.

'Is it making that sound?'

'Yeah.'

Then Sirius was on his knees and reaching a finger out to stop the record where it spun. 

'Oi, watch it!' Remus grabbed his hand before he could touch (and break, knowing Sirius) the album. 

'Merlin! Fine!' Sirius fell back into a cross-legged seat with one graceful motion Remus couldn’t imitate if he tried. 'What’s wrong with you? Why’d you run off like that?'

'I don’t know--maybe because you lied to me and humiliated me just to win a fight I didn’t know we were having!' 

Remus watched as Sirius’ brow furrowed, expression falling to a frown. 

'We didn’t humiliate you, we went after the Slytherins.'

'I was just as clueless as everybody else!' Remus snapped, refusing to meet his eyes. 'I was just as clueless and afraid and disturbed as everybody! I had rats crawling up my legs! In what world  _ isn’t  _ that humiliating?

‘And what was with that “when I say I can do something, I mean it?”’ He continued. ‘Sorry I didn’t think an eleven year old boy could’ve transfigured a rodent infestation from a single goblet. You didn’t have to leave me out just to prove me wrong. You could’ve said something.'

In the background, Buckley’s voice swelled into his upper register, wailing about children dancing and feeling young. Sirius’ bottom lip stuck out and Remus dared catch his eyes, cast down. His face had morphed into something unreadable. He looked…was it guilty? Was it pensive? It was something entirely foreign on Sirius' face.

'James says I’m not very good at making friends,' he mumbled, staring down at his fingers, picking at one of the boils. 'People think I’m an entitled bigot.’

'...and he says I’m mean even when I’m trying not to be.' The last part was spoken barely above a whisper. 

All of this was true, of course. Remus had pinpointed all of those things as reasons he  _ didn’t _ like Sirius. It was unthinkable to say, though, especially when Sirius looked so uncharacteristically small and vulnerable. 

'I know it’s true,' he went on, 'but I’m trying to be different. I really am.'

'I can tell,' Remus said gently, growing more uncomfortable by the second. 

'He thinks my family’s messed me up.' 

'How so?' It was so strange to see Sirius in this light, speaking so softly. This was the same version of Sirius that Remus overheard talking to Poppy, devoid of bravado, all eleven year-old insecurity. 

'I don’t know…' he trailed off, running a hand through his hair. 'I wasn't trying to be mean to you. I do like you, and not just ‘cause James does.'

Remus felt his face heat up, thankful the dim light hid his blush. He’d always assumed that Sirius just indulged him and Peter for James’ sake. And James indulged them out of pity. 

'I know you’re not...you don’t really like me…'

Remus laughed at that, meeting his eyes for just a second. 

'I mean, I don’t  _ hate  _ you,’ he said and immediately realised how rude that sounded. 'Sorry-I mean-'

'Cheers,' Sirius deadpanned, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

'Not being funny, you  _ can  _ be a little...pompous, and a little mean sometimes.' Remus tried to tread lightly, but something about Sirius made Remus brasher, more confident than he should be. 'But I like you, Sirius.' Remus continued, deciding to commit to honesty, ‘even if you’re not the easiest person to be around.'

'Cheers.' 

No one spoke for a moment, and the last song on the album slowed to a stop. The two of them sat in silence, the only light in the room coming from Remus’ wand on the floor. It wasn’t exactly... unpleasant. It reminded Remus a bit of how he’d sit with his father, neither of them talking, counting lines in the ceiling. 

'Did the rats really crawl up your legs?' Sirius asked, rolling over. The moment of vulnerability had passed. His expression was once again smug and blank.

'No, but they may as well have.'

'I like your hair,' Sirius responded, ignoring Remus’ indignation.

'Lily did it, since you lot were too busy plotting the second plague in the bathroom all day.'

'It was Plague the Second, first of all, and you have to admit it was pretty brilliant.' Sirius grinned, digging an elbow into Remus’ side. 

'It was alright...could’ve been better.'

'Oh yeah? What would you have done differently?' 

'Well, for starters...' Remus slowly inched away from Sirius and his sharp elbows. 'If you and James were really committed to the plague bit, it might’ve been helpful to have more than two so-called plague victims. Not to mention, the fog was so thick you couldn’t see anything. Not you and James’ makeup or the rats.'

'It’s not  _ make-up,  _ it’s art!' Sirius said. 'And so what? It’s a learning curve. Next time I’ll make sure Jamie lightens up on the fog.'

'Next time?' Remus turned to face him from where he rested on his arms, crossed over his knees. 

'Next time. We’re thinking we’ll have to strike again soon if we want to keep the buzz going.'

'The buzz?'

'Plague the Second is all anyone’s been talking about, Loony! Not that you’d know since you’ve been up here moping all night.' 

'I haven’t been-' he swatted at Sirius’ hand, trying to touch his hair. 'I haven’t been moping! I’ve been trying to get away from you idiots! And stop-' another swat '-calling me-' one more '-Loony!'

'Believe me, I know a moper when I see one. And you, my dear Loony, are in a sorry state.' 

'That’s not even a word.' Remus mumbled, finally giving in and letting Sirius prod at his hair. 

'Is too.' He patted it gently, clearly fascinated by the amount of product Lily had used. Did wizards even have hairspray? Or did they just spell their hair still? 

'Moper--as in one who mopes. How’d she get it so fluffy?' Remus fought against the urge to clamour backwards as Sirius’ fingers touched his scalp. 

'You’ll just have to ask her yourself.'

'Wouldn’t dream of it. Do you know how upset she is? She nearly started duelling James!'

Remus liked the thought of Lily squaring off against James. She’d proven herself competent with spellwork today, and James could do with being taken down a notch. 

'You’re going to ruin any chance I have with her, aren’t you?' With that, he relaxed into Sirius’ touch. He had completely messed up the careful layers Lily created and Remus imagined he probably looked a lot like James’ right now. A scrawnier, paler, less handsome James. 

'Oh, absolutely,' Remus could hear his grin. 'Besides, you won’t have any time for a girlfriend with all the pranks we’ll be planning.'

The rest of the night passed quickly, with Sirius giving him the run-down on the latest prank. By the time they made it back to the dormitory, James and Peter had returned. The former was in the bathroom trying to scrub remnants of green paint from his skin. 

'Sirius!' he wailed through the door. ' _ Scourgify  _ isn’t working! It won’t come off!'

'Maybe you’re just not casting it right!' Sirius rushed to join him. Peter was face down on his bed, dead silent in his slumber. 

'I know how to do a bloody scouring charm, you git! You obviously messed up the paint charm!'

'I did not!'

Remus eventually drifted to sleep to the sound of James and Sirius bickering, occasionally punctuated by shouts of victory and pain. By the time they successfully scrubbed all the paint from their skin, the dormitory was silent.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November ‘71: Truths, birthdays, and many hats.

**_Wednesday, 3 November, 1971_ **

Remus woke up in the hospital wing to two sets of concerned brown eyes. 'James?' he asked groggily, unsure if his vision was splitting or not. 

'It’s Sirius’ birthday.’. 

'I’m sorry, Remus dear. I don’t know how he got in here but he won’t leave,' Poppy sighed, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. 'Believe me, I’ve tried.'

'Why are you here?'

'Do you think he’ll be well enough by dinner?' James asked, moving right past Remus’ question. 

'Am I going to have to ask you to leave  _ again _ , Mr Potter? Merlin, I could’ve sworn your parents had better manners than that.' Poppy raised an eyebrow at James, who muttered an apology. 

'How are you feeling?' he asked, finally addressing Remus.

'Why are you here, James?' Remus’ heart pounded violently in his chest, creeping up into his throat. How did James know he was here? 

'Suppose I wanted to talk to you…' he raked a hand through his hair, '...in private…'

'Behave yourself, Potter,' said Poppy with a stern look, pulling the curtains closed.

'How are you feeling?' James asked again. His fingers drummed against his side.

'I'm fine. My head hurts a little, thought I’d see Pomfrey for a pain potion…' Remus struggled on the words. He was weary from the night before. Had the hospital always been this hot? It was as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. He was stifled, struggling to stay still under James’ gaze. His eyes were alarmingly clear and wide. Remus hadn’t noticed it before, but they weren’t just brown. They were rife with bits of gold and amber and garnet. 

'I know your mother’s not ill, Remus.'

The words fell out of James’ mouth straight onto the floor. They echoed in Remus’ ears and devolved to a shrill ring like that muggle thing his mother sometimes had--tinnitus, was it?

The truth hung limply between them like a corpse. His fate hung from a string tied to James Potter’s tongue and all he could hear was the blood rushing to his head. 

He tried not to get too caught up in the panic, but it was hopeless. What if he was expelled? What would his parents say when he came home defeated? Would he go to the muggle school? Would his father start teaching him again? Would James tell his parents and then-

'I won't tell anyone,' James interjected before Remus’ mind could drift any further. 'Not even Sirius.'

'Not your parents?' 

'Well…' James ran his fingers through his hair, grabbing a fistful of curls. 'They already knew-or know, I guess. I knew, too, sort of. But they don't know that I know. And they don't know that you don't know that they know. Wait.' He paused, counting the knows on his fingers until Remus interrupted him.

'How do you know? How do  _ they  _ know?' Remus felt his heart pounding in his aching chest. Each word hurt, not just because his throat was sore from howling and screaming the night before.

'Well, I mean… Roscoe, your grandad, told them-my parents-but he told them you were dead. And then at the funeral, they found out about the will and that you weren't dead which meant you must be a-a-you know-and I didn't mean to overhear them and I thought it didn't matter until I met you and I realised who you were and-'

'-and you decided you'd be my friend out of pity?' Remus finished, feeling nauseous and dizzy yet calm.

'No! No that's not it all! In fact, it didn't matter that much to the point where I forgot until I saw you last month and you looked like you were dead!' 

Remus squeezed his eyes shut, unready and unwilling to hear all of this. He was not ready to know the full betrayal of his grandfather and how his secret was out and how James knew from the start. And James knew and he knew and he always knew.

'I didn't think it was that bad. My dad never said a bad word about-er, werewolves and he always fought with your grandad about it. They'd argue all the way through dinner sometimes and I never really got why they brought it up so much. Obviously,  _ now  _ I get it but like… I just thought it was something that happened. I didn't know...' He swallowed. 'I didn't know that you got hurt from it.'

Remus didn’t know what to say. A part of him had to admit that he was impressed James waited two months for this. Normally, he couldn’t keep a secret longer than an hour. His compulsive need to talk made it impossible for him to not say whatever was on his mind. 

'You won't be expelled. I mean it, I promise I won’t tell anyone.  _ Please, please  _ believe me.' James’ eyes were wide and solemn and pleading. Remus wondered if Sirius saw this version of James more often. Perhaps this was the James that told him he was wrong and mean and messed up by his parents. 

'Oh God,' he croaked out, 'this is..this is a nightmare.'

'You’re telling me.' James let out a nervous laugh. He ran his hand through his hair again. 'I have to keep a secret from Sirius? You’ve no clue how hard that’s going to be.'

'Oh, shut up, Potter,' Remus laughed, imagining how ridiculous he must look. Poppy hadn’t told him what last night’s damage was, but he knew where he felt the pain. There was a familiar throbbing in his side. Possibly a bruised rib? There had to be a pretty big mark on his temple, maybe even across his eye. He felt heavy bandages wrapped around his left ankle, a favorite spot of the wolf.

'So, d’you think you’ll be good by dinner then?' he asked again. Remus wished he had the energy to throw a pillow at him. 

'I think I broke a few ribs,’ Remus shook his head, feeling lighter than he ever had. He was thrilled and terrified at the prospect of having someone to talk to about the transformations. The truth was foreign on his tongue. The unfamiliarity was exhilarating.

'Merlin…' James winced at that. '‘Suppose Pomfrey better get to work then.'

'We’ll figure something out.' Remus laughed, surprised at how normal things felt. He thought that if anybody ever found it would be earth shattering. A part of him thought he would die on the spot. At the very least, he assumed the Ministry would show up to take him away in seconds. 

'If we can’t, should I tell Sirius you’re on your deathbed?' 

'Maybe you should tell him that anyways. See what he says.'

'I’ll tell him you fell down the stairs. As a birthday present.'

'Then he’ll just be sad he missed it.' Sirius did enjoy watching a good fall, and the castle’s moving staircases always delivered. 

'I’ll reenact it then,' James promised with a lopsided grin. 

Some time before classes started, James left and Poppy resumed fussing over Remus. He left the bite alone, but he cracked one of his ribs and severely wounded his left ankle. He would need to keep his weight off of it for another day while she attempted to heal it.

'It’s frustrating how little research is out there,' she lamented, running her icy fingers along his rib cage looking for the specific part that was cracked. Remus thought an X-Ray might come in handy. Whenever he broke something complicated back at home, his mother would take him to the hospital in the city where she worked. He supposed there were trade-offs, given that muggle pain relievers never worked but Poppy’s potions worked like a dream. 

He spent most of the day timing pain potions and watching one of Poppy’s salves slowly take away the colour from his bruises. He counted down the hours until dinner, still in disbelief at what had happened this morning. 

*

'Alright then, Loony. Let’s get you on your feet,' Sirius said as he and James helped him off the bed. Remus winced as they each wrapped a hand around his waist. 

'Careful!' Poppy shouted.

'Must’ve been one hell of a fall,' Sirius commented, loosening his grip on Remus’ side. 

'Sure was,' Remus muttered. His cheeks flared red.

'Well, fear not. We’ve prepared a night of birthday activities you don’t need legs for!' Remus limped through the door Peter held open, trying to carry as much of his own weight as possible. 

'Yes! No legs required!' James added, as Peter cheered, 'No leg night!'

Navigating the stairs was tricky, especially with Poppy watching them from the doorway of the hospital wing. Somehow, they managed, and managed it again, half carrying Remus up the steps to the dormitory. 

The ‘legless’ birthday activities included watching Sirius and James play Exploding Snap and throwing chocolate frogs at Remus to see who could land one in his mouth first.

For the most part, it was a quiet and normal night. The only difference was the occasional knowing glance James shot Remus. 

James was the only one who’d actually gotten Sirius anything, as Remus and Peter only found out it was his birthday that morning. James more than made up for it, though; He gave Sirius an enormous stuffed lion, one of his old  _ Cursebreaker Chronicles _ books, and a box of gadgets from a joke shop called Zonko’s. James’ parents even got him some things, a large box of sweets and a bright red scarf knitted by Mrs. Potter.

'You got him a book?' Peter asked, bewildered.

'Not just any book, Peter! It’s  _ Kanen Flynn _ ! Cursebreaker extraordinaire! The greatest marauder of all time!’

'What even is a marauder?' Sirius pondered, failing miserably to look nonchalant as he clutched the lion. 

'Us!' James shouted back, brimming with enthusiasm. 'Makers of mischief who wreak havoc and steal under the cover of night! Pirates! Bandits! Pranksters!'

'I don’t really know if we qualif-'

'Don’t be a smart-arse, Loony. Just be a marauder and be happy about it,' James quipped with no bite. Remus rolled his eyes, grinning with crooked, chocolate-stained teeth.

After the gift was opened, the night was spent letting Sirius talk as much as he wanted to about his plans for their next prank and how much he was dreading winter holidays. 

He glowed under all the attention, burning so bright that Remus’ heart sank when the moment passed with the arrival of a letter and Sirius’ good mood fizzled out. He never found out what exactly the letter said, what was so horrible to end Sirius’ party early. He was only able to glean some semblance of a story from the whispered conversation behind James’ bed curtains after Peter fell asleep.

'Why haven’t you written back yet?'

'Why do you think I haven’t?' Sirius snapped. 'There’s nothing I can do about it. What Andromeda wants to do with her life is up to her. If she wants to leave us for that muggleborn and tell the papers Bella’s a Death Eater, that’s on her.’

Remus vaguely remembered hearing James talk about Death Eaters before, the pureblood cult that Sirius’ family was purportedly affiliated with. He didn’t know who Andromeda and Bella were.

'Well, you can’t just keep ignoring them.'

'Why not?' Sirius huffed, struggling to keep his volume down.

'Just tell them you won’t do it and it’s not fair for them to ask!'

'I can’t do that! I’ll be punished as soon as I get home!' Remus shuddered at the way Sirius said the word ‘punished,’ at the fluid transition from rage to fear in his voice. 

'Then don’t go home!' James pleaded, voice rising slightly above a whisper now, and Remus couldn’t bring himself to stop listening, no matter how wrong it felt. 'Come live with me! You don’t have to go back there!'

'Yes I  _ do,  _ James! They’re still my family and I’m still Sirius  _ Black _ , if you remember.' Even more, Remus hated the way Sirius spat out his own name, like he was ashamed to be proud of it. 'They still love me and I love them. I know it’s not perfect but…' He trailed off, and Remus’ chest tightened. '-but it’s what I have.'

'No it’s not and you bloody well know it. You’ve got me and Remus and Peter and my parents, even if you haven’t met them.'

'It’s not like that, James. You’re not family.'

‘But-’

‘You hated me not even two months ago! It's not the same.’

Sirius kept whispering about how little he talked to Andromeda these days and someone else- Regulus? Remus tried to stop paying attention. He felt sick. He rolled over to face away from James’ bed, despite the pressure in his ribs. 

*

**_Saturday, 20 November, 1971_ **

The past two weekends were spent investigating the mysterious tunnels behind Sir Gawain’s portrait. James and Sirius were attached at the hip most times, but the moments where they felt like a true group grew more frequent. Remus found himself looking forward to the weekends and the nights when he wasn’t swamped with schoolwork. He grew giddy and eager whenever the opportunity for the four of them to hang out arose. It was odd; Remus was used to wishing time would slow and stop, leaving as much distance between him and the next full moon as possible, but now, he wanted the days to be shorter. For the first time he was not solely focused on the moon. The dread lingered, as always, but more and more it was slipping to the back of his mind, making room for thoughts of James, Sirius, Peter, and Lily.

'I just don’t understand why there’s a hidden room of hats and blankets,' he groaned, sitting against the stone floor of the room James and Peter found last month. They were currently sorting through the array of trunks in the room, searching for anything indicative of its purpose. 

'You muggles have absolutely no imagination,' Sirius tutted, pulling out a large velvet curtain from one of the trunks.

'Stop calling us muggles, Sirius,' he responded, gathering another blanket out of the deep trunk. That had to be the tenth one they found in the last hour. 

'It is kind of offensive,' Peter added as he set another hat on the ground beside him. His trunk was full of them.

'Sorry,' Sirius grumbled, reaching for one of Peter’s hats and pulling it over his glowering face. 

'What do you reckon they used all of this stuff for?' James asked, setting another hat, a large brimmed sun hat, on top of Sirius’ knit purple one. 

'Who?'

'The people who put it here, obviously. Keep up, Pete. Why would they need to keep a bunch of hats and blankets hidden?'

'Maybe they were a secret theatre troupe at a time when the arts were banned from Hogwarts.' Remus offered, wondering if there was such a thing as wizard theatre and what it would entail. 

'Maybe they needed disguises to pull heists on the shops in Hogsmeade,' Peter suggested, holding up a tangled blonde wig and adding it to Sirius’ collection. 

'Or they were undercover spies,' James added.

The three of them laughed as James stacked a pillbox, bowler, and cloche onto Sirius’ head. The intimidation factor of his scowl was nonexistent beneath a dozen womens’ hats, each more gaudy than the last. 

'What is it with you and spies, Potter?' The boy under many hats mumbled, trying and failing to hide the amusement in his tone. 

'Well, I have a keen interest in them, seeing as my best mate is one.'

'Sod off, Potter,' said Sirius, still pouting, but with an unmistakable blush at James calling him his best mate.

'You know what they say, keep your friends close-'

'-and your secret theatre troupe heist team of spies even closer,' Peter finished, adding a final beret on top of Sirius’ head.

Sirius knocked the tower of hats off, pulled out of his sulk. He put the beret on again.

'Potter,' he started in a rather impressive French accent. 'Will you join my secret band of thespian criminals?'

James grabbed the hat nearest to him, a black pillbox hat that couldn’t fit over his hair. 

'Good Godric!' he exclaimed in a shrill imitation of a woman’s voice, throwing an arm across his forehead. 'I’ve just been propositioned for a life of crime! What ever would my husband say?'

Peter pulled on a tweed flat cap.

'Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Is this eejit here botherin’ you?' It was actually a fairly accurate Irish accent, if stereotypical. Peter was good with accents like that.

'Alright, enough of that,' Remus shook his head. He felt he owed it to himself to cut this bit short. 

‘“Or-i”!' all three of them shouted in perfect, ridiculing unison. They dissolved into fits of laughter with Sirius completely forgetting he was in a bad mood only minutes earlier. 

'So glad you all find my voice so entertaining,' Remus said dryly, folding his stack of blankets. 'Really. That’s just great, that is. Some friends you are.'

This only made them laugh harder.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December ‘71, Part One: A prank, a poltergeist, and a cruel awakening.

**_Friday, 3 December, 1971_ **

There were two full moons that December, a joke so cruel even Hope Lupin would’ve struggled to call it a function of fate. Remus’ ankle was healed by the first full of the month, his only blessing as the crack in ribs kept getting worse. The next full he’ll spend back at home in the cellar, on New Year’s Eve. 

Poppy had a theory that the more transformations he spent in the shack, the less painful they’d be. Her only evidence was this month’s minor damage and the fact that the bite from September had mostly healed, leaving behind a faint pink scar. But it was all the evidence she needed to try and get Remus to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays, doubting his mother’s ability to treat whatever wounds he would start the new year with.

James decided to mitch today's classes to make Remus’ absences seem ‘less suspicious’. That he didn’t have to go to class or see Sirius was merely an added bonus.

'I mean, don’t you think he’s being selfish?' James asked, looking up from his book, the latest  _ Kanen Flynn  _ his dad had sent over. 

'Do I think Sirius is being selfish for spending the holidays with his family?' Remus echoed, 'No, I don’t think I do.'

'His family that hates him for being a Gryffindor! He’d have a much better time with us.' 

Remus had spent the past month writing a mental thesis on something he dubbed ‘James Logic’. James Logic referred to a certain brand of disjointed reasoning that only made sense in the head of James Potter. This reasoning was applied to as many things as interpreting Severus Snape tying his shoes as a personal insult to thinking chocolate had the ability to heal wounds: 'Just eat it,' he had said, shoving the box into Remus’ hands the minute he woke up. 'You’ll feel better.' 

James Logic could also be employed to deem actions such as not spending the holidays with the Potters as selfish. A subcategory of James Logic, or maybe this was another school of thought entirely, was James Argumentation. This was the practice of bringing something up so often that the other person eventually grew too annoyed to disagree with you.

'He probably would have a better time with you,' Remus ceded. 'Now, if you’ll excuse me I do actually have serious injuries to attend to.'

'You always have “serious injuries to attend to,”’ he mocked in an embarrassing attempt at a Welsh accent. 

'You sound ridiculous.'

'Well, you always sound ridiculous then,' James countered, still in poor imitation--shrilly dragging the ‘you’ out for two syllables and going up at the end like a question.

'I sound nothing like that!' 

James repeated him again in an even higher-pitched attempt. They laughed until Remus’ chest hurt too much to continue. 

'What is it with you lot and accents?'

'You just sound funny’s all,' James grinned, running a hand through his wild hair.

'My mam thinks I sound English.' Then again, Hope did consider anything short of speaking Welsh to be practically English. 

'Believe me, you don’t.' James barely made it through the sentence without laughing, as though it were completely outlandish to even insinuate. 

'Too ridiculous, I suppose?'

'I think being Welsh is about the least ridiculous thing about you.' 

'No, I think the most ridiculous thing about me is the fact I  _ choose  _ to hang around you and Sirius.'

'Eh, that’s a bit of stretch.' James' smile was bright. 'We both know you don’t really have a choice in the matter.'

*

**_Saturday, 11 December, 1971_ **

'You are absolutely going to ruin this for us, aren’t you?' Remus’ shoulders shook with laughter as he tried to shush the others. They routinely forgot that the curfew applied to making excessive amounts of noise in the dormitory. 

He clutched at his side, the tight bandaging beneath his school shirt. His ribs throbbed from the movement, a mixture of good and bad pain he was getting accustomed to.

'Oh come off it, Loony. Gideon will just yell at us and take like a quarter point or something. Or we can tell him that it's not us and the dormitory’s haunted.'

There was rarely a time when Sirius didn't look out of place in the warmly coloured Gryffindor dormitory, but gradually, he was beginning to blend in. Last week he'd charmed his dark green silk pyjamas to a garish shade of crimson. Strands of hair had come loose from his low ponytail. His smile was beginning to look more like James’-- wider, toothier and more frequent.

'Yeah, haunted by posh boys who’ve never seen a chicken before.' Part of Remus wished he stayed quiet, because now they were roaring with laughter again. The dull ache in his side swelled, now louder and harder to ignore. 

The thing was, though, Sirius snorted when he laughed. Sirius, who was neat and composed and spoke like the Queen,  _ snorted  _ when he laughed. It was unexpected and infectious with its mirth. 

'Alright, alright, we really need to be quiet now,' Remus breathed out, steadying himself against the trunk. 'I don’t think I could handle another lecture from Anthony.'

Anthony Jacobs was a tall, intimidating Seventh Year Gryffindor prefect, and had the deepest voice Remus had ever heard. In other words, he was the exact opposite of the lanky, disarming Gideon. Whereas the Fifth Year was friendly, if a little neurotic, in his desire to help out the younger students, Anthony’s tactic was to terrify them into following the rules. It was effective. The week before last he took twenty points off his own house and scolded the four of them for breaking curfew.

'I don’t think Sirius could handle seeing a chicken,' Peter added, wincing as Sirius flicked him hard on the knee. James erupted into another fit of laughter. 

'I’ve seen-shut up, James-I’ve seen-' James and Peter cackled louder. 'Shut up, James,' Sirius whinged. 'I’ve seen a chicken before, alright?'

The tips of his ears turned a delightful shade of pink when he blushed. Once again, Remus suppressed the urge to laugh. 

They were never going to get the prank planned at this rate. Every night for the past couple of weeks had been like this. They retired to the dormitory with honest intentions of planning a prank, only to be distracted by someone’s general absurdity or the strange things James kept in his trunk. Today, that absurdity was that Sirius had never seen a live chicken before, revealed after Remus suggested they use the Zonko’s spell-timers to fill the Slytherin dorm room with transfigured hens. 

If there was one thing Remus knew well, it was the confusion and annoyance that came with waking up to a chicken in one’s bed. It wasn’t an abnormal occurrence in the countryside. The cottage nearest to Lupins’ raised hens.

Sirius suggested that they transfigure the chickens from chocolate frog boxes because--

'They’re both round-ish, right? And since chickens don’t have necks we wouldn’t have to worry about that bit.'

As it turned out, growing up in London, Sirius had only ever seen cooked chicken. 

'Don’t worry mate,' James clapped a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder. 'I guarantee that you’ll see a chicken before the year’s over.'

'Before the night is over, if you like,' Remus added. He learned the spell ages ago, trying to get ahead of James in Transfiguration (a lost cause as the subject came so easily to him). 'Here, hand me that box.'

He stared intently at the empty chocolate frog box, no bigger than his hand, and thought carefully. It had to be a chicken. Not a magpie, or a finch like he’d occasionally done in practice. It had to be a fluffy, feathery, obnoxious chicken.

' _ Avifors. _ ' Careful not to mispronounce the incantation in his desire to show off, Remus spoke clearly and evenly, ignoring the three sets of eyes on him.

They all watched as the box folded in on itself, sprouting feathers and rearranging into the figure of a hen. As if in slow motion, it raised its head to meet their stares with tiny, penetrating black eyes.

The Tim Buckely record spun near Peter’s head, a sweet voice laying gently above a bed of soft piano chords. This was the closing track, meant to bring the listener to peace, to inspire nostalgia and a sense of closure. 

Remus realised that he believed in souls and spirits, if only because he was certain that the creature in front him did not have a soul. 

There was absolutely nothing behind those blank, beady eyes.

_ No more tales of time, _

_ Don’t ask me now to wash away the grime _

A choir joined the singer with layers of gentle harmony. James wiped his glasses on his t-shirt and Peter edged his way behind him, just slightly. 

_ I can’t come in ‘cause it’s too high a climb,  _

_ And he walked away from my fleeting house. _

The hen clucked violently.

'Turn it back! Turn it back!' Sirius shrieked, jumping behind James as the bird flapped its wings and strutted around the room. 

'It’s just a bird, Black,’ Remus taunted. 'Don’t tell me you’re afraid of it, mighty Gryffindor that you are?'

Sirius faced him, wide eyed and wary. The victory was short-lived as the bird took flight, propelling itself across the room. It flew into the wall several times while making horrible, hilarious, distressed clucking noises that were sure to wake the whole tower. 

'James! Do something!' Remus shouted, his _r_ _ eparifarge  _ spells just narrowly missing the creature each time. 

' _ Reparifarge! _ ' All four of them took turns incanting and trying to predict the chicken’s erratic movements. 

It was Remus who finally got it in the end after it got caught in Peter’s bed curtains, writhing and wriggling its wings against the velvet. Rightfully, he was dubbed the “The Chicken Whisperer,” a title he viewed as a massive step up from Loony, Loopy Lupin. Unfortunately, it lacked all of the components that lent nicknames sticking power: alliteration, musicality, and a derogatory origin.

On the bright side, their brief but harrowing (for Sirius) struggle proved Remus’ idea to be brilliant if they could accomplish it. 

*

**_Friday, 17 December, 1971_ **

In spite of Remus’ injuries, the prank ended up going better than any of them imagined. It had taken two days and all of their combined efforts to help Peter successfully manage the  _ Avifors  _ spell, and even then, his chickens were still slightly geometrical. 

They had a limited amount of time to cast all the spells and affix the Spell-Holder to all the Slytherin pillows. Because they couldn’t very well break into all the Slytherin dorms, they finally found a use for the utility room they found behind Sir Gawain’s portrait. He was impressed with the whole idea, assuring them it was something Merlin himself would've enjoyed (although Peeves contested that point, once again arguing that the portrait was not  _ actually  _ Sir Gawain as it was painted many centuries after the knight’s death). 

After the Dungeons were flooded with poultry, Peeves congratulated the four Gryffindors. He even tipped his jester’s cap in respect (something Gideon said he never did).

'Didn’t know you had it in you, Loopy Lupin,' Peeves had hissed right in Remus’ ear, before disappearing with a promise to hide a few chickens in Filch’s office. 

They set loose a hundred chickens in the Slytherin dungeons and all James wanted to hide in the dormitory, sulking in the corner and glaring at Sirius. They wreaked havoc on the castle. There were professors scrambling all over trying to find the last of the chickens and they were missing it. 

James was upset that Sirius hadn’t taken up his offer to spend the holidays with the Potters. Remus knew an inordinate amount of things regarding James Potter. Everyone who spoke to him for more than two minutes did. However, the most fundamental aspect of James Potter’s character was not his ego, his incessant talking, or even his ridiculously short attention span. The most fundamental James trait was his complete inability to conceal his emotions. If James was happy, which he was most of the time, everyone knew. James was one of those people with an infectious smile and a laugh that compelled all to join in. But if James Potter’s good moods were contagious, his bad moods were contaminating. 

Sirius’ mood was equally bitter, his face set in a permanent scowl as he read, angrily turning the page of his Charms book. The two of them were in such a state that Remus seemed to be the only one to notice Peter, positively trembling, as he packed up his things for the train tomorrow. 

'Alright, Pete?' he asked eventually, seeing that no one else was going to. The smaller boy muttered something in response, too soft for Remus to hear.

'What was that?' he asked again, leaning closer. 

'I can’t find my wand,' Peter whispered, eyes darting across the room to see if the others heard him. 

Remus bit back the urge to laugh. Sometimes Peter was so predictably pitiful it stopped feeling serious ages ago. All the same, Remus led him to the common room where they could retrace his steps without James or Sirius finding out. 

'They’ll laugh at me,' he lamented as they descended the steps from the dormitory.

'Yeah, they will,' Remus actually thought that mocking Peter might be just what their dormmates needed to get past their stupid row. 

'God, they’ll think I’m even stupider than before…'

'Who thinks you’re stupid?' Lily spun around from where she sat on the loveseat, wand at the ready to hex anyone who insulted Peter. 

'Everyone.' 

' _ I  _ don’t!'

'You do too, you just pretend you don’t.'

'He lost his wand,’ Remus explained, ignoring Peter’s comment. A flicker of amusement crossed Lily’s otherwise sympathetic eyes. She had her hair in two thick plaits tied off with scarlet ribbon. With full, rosy cheeks she looked just as young as Peter did, only without the general air of helplessness.

'Do you want help looking?' she asked, looking straight past Peter at Remus. He tried to hide his blush. 

He had spent quite a bit of time with Lily since Halloween. They often sat in some corner of the common room with his Tim Buckley album playing while they studied. She would talk about muggle films she saw over the summer and gush about how Remus just ‘ _ had  _ to see them’. In turn, he would tell her about all the obscure muggle folk music his parents listened to, promising to bring back some records after the holidays. 

He still wasn’t even sure if he liked her (at least in the way Sirius thought he did) or if she was just the only girl he’d ever spoken to. At any rate, he still felt flustered and on guard around her. These feelings were only exacerbated by the unspoken tension of their best friends hating each other. 

Lily didn’t wait for an answer, already asking where Peter last had his wand. It was a fairly damning question, as the last time either of them remembered seeing Peter’s wand was in the utility room last night, transfiguring chickens. 

'I suppose that makes a lot of sense, then,’ was all Lily had to say in response to their confession. 

'Wait--how did you manage not using your wand all day?' she asked Peter as they crawled out of the portrait hole. 

'We didn’t have classes.' 

Lily looked like she wanted to say something else but decided against it. 

Peter didn’t say a word for the rest of the walk to the utility room. Lily chattered nervously, running the numbers on whether she’d get detention for sneaking around with them. 

'You don’t have to help us if you don’t want to.’

'No, I think I could use the distraction,' she said firmly, ducking into an alcove when they passed Professor Flitwick. He waved in their direction. 

'I’m not talking to Sev right now,' Lily confessed after Flitwick passed out of eyeshot. 'He’s been so stubborn since we started school.'

'I didn’t realise you knew each other before school?' Remus asked, interest piqued. He always thought they just became friends on the train, like he and James did. Admittedly, he did wonder how someone as nice as Lily could be friends with someone so...what was the word James used? Slimy? Bigoted? Slytherin? All of the above.

'He lives near me and we've been friends for ages.' She went on to tell Remus how Snape was her introduction to magic and the first person to recognise her as a witch.

'I finally wore my parents down on letting him come over for Christmas but he won’t even ask his mum. How ridiculous is that?' she lamented as they reached the hidden door to the utility room. Sir Gawain was not in his portrait, which made Remus a little sad as he wanted Lily to meet him. 

Lily apparently already knew about house elves from Snape, but her curt nod to the elf made it clear that she was just as uncomfortable as Remus was. 

The house elf, whose name Remus learned was Vispy, said that she hadn't seen Peter’s wand since last night. This confirmed Remus’ worst case scenario, which was that Peter had let his wand slip into one of the Slytherin’s pillowcases. 

'Oh Merlin, I’m buggered, aren’t I?' Peter slid down against the stone wall, hands raking through his brassy hair.

'No, no, it’ll be okay! We’ll get it back!' Lily rushed to his side. 

Instantly, Remus felt bad for hesitating to comfort Peter. In truth, he  _ did  _ think it was hopeless. At least not without telling Professor McGonagall and getting caught. They might be able to tell Gideon, who had rescued Sirius’ wand from the dungeons before, but Gideon and Spinnet disappeared a few hours after dinner and all the other prefects would go to McGonagall straight away.

'They’ve probably already snapped it and sacrificed it to the Basilisk!' Peter lamented, ignoring Lily. 

'That’s not real and they wouldn’t do that. Is that really how you guys think of the Slytherins?' Lily looked up at Remus with an incredulous expression. 'They’re kids too, not any different from us. They just wear green instead of red and supposedly have more ambition. What’s wrong with that?'

Remus didn’t know what to say. He supposed it would be wrong to say ‘agree to disagree’.

'We have to tell McGonagall,' she said when Remus refused to meet her eyes. Peter whimpered, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. 

'Unless you have a better idea?' she added, eyeing Peter with pity. 

'I can’t think of anything,' muttered Remus, knowing Peter wasn’t going to like what he had to say. 'But James might be able to.'

'No! You can’t tell James!' Suddenly Peter was on his feet, tears filling his eyes. The situation had gotten so pathetic that Remus struggled to remember what he initially found so funny about it. 'He’ll laugh at me!'

'He’s your friend!' Lily declared, expression softening at the tears in Peter’s eyes. He looked so much like a child, like the younger brother neither of them had. 'There’s no way he’d laugh at you when you’re this upset.'

Remus envied her naiveté. 

James laughed. Loudly. For nearly a minute and then even longer when Sirius joined in. 

'How can you laugh at him?' Lily was outraged on Peter’s behalf. 'He’s on the verge of tears and you’re  _ laughing  _ at him?' 

'Merlin, you cried?' Sirius choked out in between laughs. 'Come on, Pete, you’re better than that!'

To Remus’ left, Peter’s head hung in shame. Blond hair curtained his face. He looked like he had on Halloween, nodding glumly from beneath a sheet. The picture of abandonment, pity personified. Suddenly, Remus remembered why it was funny, but one look at Lily’s face made him feel guilty for that. James and Sirius had this way of making him think something was funny, or at least acceptable, when he normally wouldn’t. Their laughter was joyful and irreverent.

'Some friends you are. How can you be so cruel?' Lily seemed to be immune from the charms of their laughter. She cut right through and called it what it was: mean.

'Hey, calm down, Evans. It’s not like we aren’t going to help get it back.' James straightened his glasses. He was still grinning like a madman with deep dimples on either side of his mouth.

'Yeah, in fact, you can run along now, Evans,' Sirius added, wrinkling his nose as he looked her over. 'We don’t need any arse-licking mudbl-.'

'Sirius!' Remus murmured, face hot with embarrassment. James punched Sirius hard on the shoulder, shooting him a look that meant they’d be talking about that later. 

'No, it’s fine, Remus,' Lily squared her shoulders back, scowling at them. 'I guess I didn’t realise you’d be friends with such arseholes.'

She said the word with such malice that he would never guess she had reservations with profanity. Remus remembered how strongly her family discouraged her and her sister swearing, going as far as washing their mouths out with soap. She must have been livid beneath that scowl. 

'I’m sorry, Lily,' Remus said, meeting Sirius’ eyes with a hardened look. 'I didn’t either.'

Lily didn’t look back at them as she marched up the stairs to the girl’s dormitory. Remus watched her with apologetic eyes until she faded from sight. When he turned around, it was to Sirius’ glare. 

'Thought you said you weren’t gonna hang around her anymore,' Sirius muttered sullenly, all dark eyes and indignance. 

'I never said that! Not once!'

'You did! On Halloween!' 

Remus thought back to his conversation with Sirius in October. They’d talked about Plague the Second and a little bit about Sirius’ family, but not Lily. Remus thinks he might’ve said something about her record playing spell or maybe how she did his hair. He never said he wasn’t going to see her anymore. 

'No, I didn’t. I said-'

'Lads,' James interrupted, 'as fascinating and important as this discussion is, Peter’s wand is in enemy territory. We must take action.'

Remus half wanted to leave Peter to deal with his own stupid mistakes. He wouldn’t, though. He never would. 

'Fine,' he grumbled, refusing to look at Sirius. 'Let’s get this over with. What’s the plan?'

'It’s hopeless,' Peter finally spoke, his voice as unsteady as his frame. 'We’ll never be able to get it back. Not without coming clean about the chickens.'

Objectively, ‘coming clean about the chickens’ was a ridiculous phrase and in any other context Remus might have taken the time to point it out. But now, all he wanted was to get as far away from Sirius as possible. He wanted to apologise to Lily and lie on the floor with the Tim Buckley record. He wanted to be a hermit and never see anyone except his parents.

'Hopeless?' James’ eyes seemed to glitter with the word. It was hard to think that just an hour ago he was sulking in the corner of their dormitory. 'If there’s one thing you should know by now, Peter, is that nothing is hopeless when _ I’m _ around.'

Remus had never been inclined to incite violence in his life, but he was close to punching James.

'Alright we get it with the ego, James. Do you have a plan or not?'

'Merlin, Loony, don’t get your wand in a knot. Of course, I have a plan. Get over yourselves, you two.' James was good at a lot of things (really, an infuriating amount of things), and Remus hated how well he could dissolve tension. Suddenly, it was as though they were just planning another prank. No collateral, no arguments, just another prank. 

'Alright, lads. In these desperate times we must…'

James continued on with his speech, voice rising with passion. He stood on the banister, drawing the eyes of all the older Gryffindors in the common room. Remus struggled to find a plan amid the melodrama. 

'Our poor, young Peter is not  _ just  _ down a wand, he is down his dignity! As loyal marauders we must, nay, we  _ ought _ -'

James was eleven years old, with massive brown eyes magnified by thick lenses and the squeaky voice of a child. But the three of them listened anyway. They listened and eventually found themselves nodding because it was  _ James  _ and it was hard not to. 

He droned on for what might’ve been the second or third minute of the speech, but Remus’ mind drifted to the paperback in the pocket of his robes,  _ Idylls of the King _ , and he wondered if any of King Arthur’s knights found him this annoying. 

'And why is that, Sirius?' No one was paying them any attention anymore. Sirius rolled his eyes, mumbling something indistinct.

'Exactly! It’s because we are marauders! And we are loyal until death! Are you with me?'

'We would have been with you a lot sooner if we left  _ before  _ curfew,' Sirius flicked him hard on the wrist. Peter hovered behind an exasperated Remus and all three of them pretended they weren’t going to follow James around for the rest of their lives. 

Sirius collapsed onto James’ bed when they reached the dorm. James immediately began rummaging through his trunk. Remus leaned against one of the posters, ignoring Sirius’ eyes on him. Peter had stopped shaking for the most part, although Remus thought if he stopped clutching his robes he’d disintegrate from the stress. 

'Now, I wasn’t going to show you this until next year, but I suppose times are desperate.' They all watched as James reached under one the spare duvets in his trunk and grabbed onto something Remus couldn’t quite make out. He was definitely holding onto something, but Remus could tell only because of the way the candlelight bent around it slightly. 

'Blimey, that’s not-?' Peter whispered. 

'It can’t be…' Remus dared a glance back at Sirius who was gaping at the object. Remus waited a moment longer, focusing his eyes on James’ hand, hoping for some explanation.

'Alright, what am I looking at?' he asked. More silence.

'Come on, Loony. I know you’re a muggle but I didn’t think you could be that clueless!' Sirius remarked from behind him. 

'It’s an invisibility cloak!' Peter answered, features etched in awe. 

Remus was bothered by Sirius’ comment but decided to leave it. Judging from the look James gave him, he'd probably get an earful about it later. For now, they had planning to do. 

The plan wasn’t simple. They’d need a way into the Slytherin dungeons. Sirius knew where the entrance was, but not the password, which meant they’d have to wait for somebody else. Then, someone would have to distract whoever it was long enough for James to sneak in under the cloak. The other two would keep watch for Filch, and if the caretaker was spotted, they’d have to distract him long enough for James to escape. 

James assigned the roles somewhat cruelly; Peter was to distract the Slytherin who opened the door. Perhaps even more cruel, he forced Remus and Sirius to keep watch together. 

The two of them sat in tense silence, pressed into the alcove nearest the dungeon, right at the entrance to the girl’s bathroom. They listened for footsteps and watched Peter pace outside the entrance, covered in sweat and trembling. 'It’s the Gryffindor thing to do,' James had said, clapping a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder.

Sirius' leg kept bouncing, bumping against Remus.’

'Will you cut that out?' 

'No.'

Remus opened his mouth to respond, but was cut short by the sound of a woman’s voice. 

'Here for your wand, I suppose?' she taunted, voice sickeningly sweet. 

'Narcissa,' Sirius whispered.

'Y-y-y-yes.' Peter’s voice was small and puny.

'That’s too bad…we were just starting to have fun with it.'

Peter only whimpered in response. Remus thought he heard Sirius murmur ‘pathetic’.

'Well, why don’t you come get it, then?' Narcissa’s voice was smooth and steady, reminiscent of Sirius’ at times. 'It’s just through that door.'

'Can’t you just get it for me?' Peter stumbled over the words. 

'Oh, but that would make me a most terrible hostess, don’t you think?'

'N-n-n-no.'

'Oh, come on, now. I don’t bite.' Sirius craned his neck to peek over the edge of the wall. 'That’s it. Come on in, dear,' she said. The door closed softly.

'What are we going to do?' Remus turned to Sirius.

'Is there anything we  _ can  _ do? James is already in there!' 

Remus tried to come up with a solution. There was no way they could follow Peter in there, and what would they even do if they could?

Remus’ brainstorm was cut short by the sound of heavy footsteps, the kind made by well-worn working boots. Sirius wrapped his hand around Remus’ wrist. Then they were sprinting down the hall.

They stopped at the next corner with their backs against the wall. Sirius looked around the corner and then dragged Remus down the next hallway. 

'Who is that?' Filch’s gruff voice echoed against the stone walls. His footsteps grew louder. 

Sirius’ grip tightened on Remus’ wrist, the pads of his fingers pressed against his frantic pulse. Remus felt like his heart was going to burst. He felt it throbbing through every part of his body. Something twisted painfully in his ribcage, an involuntary yelp escaped his throat. He stopped dead in his tracks, snatching his hand from Sirius’ and clutching his side. 

'Remus-what?' Sirius spun around, eyes widening in alarm when he saw Remus doubled over, writhing in pain. 

Just as Remus summoned the breath to tell Sirius to keep running, that he’d be fine, Filch turned the corner. He descended on them like a hunter, briskly walking down the corridor and already hurling warnings. 

'What are you two doing?' he demanded, but Remus couldn’t see him through the tears in his eyes. 

'Need Pomfrey.' He choked out in between gasps for breath. 

Remus didn’t hear what Sirius said to the caretaker before he was thrown over Filch’s shoulder and carried to the hospital wing. 

He didn’t register much of what happened until he was on the bed with bitter potions sinking down his throat. 

'What were you thinking?' Poppy muttered. She pressed her cold fingers lightly against his side. Filch left before he could provide any further incriminating information against Remus. 'You could’ve punctured a lung!'

'Hey, those are muggle words,' is all Remus managed to get out before the Sleeping Draught took effect. 

*

**_Saturday, 18 December, 1971_ **

Remus woke up in the hospital wing at sunrise, just hours before he’d have to get on the train home. He rubbed at his eyes and his heart sank as memories of the previous night came back to him. He’d passed out in front of Sirius! James and Peter were stuck in the Slytherin Dungeons! Filch caught them breaking curfew!

He threw off the duvet and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

'What do you think you’re doing?' Poppy’s voice cut through the silence as she sat down on the bed across from him. 

'I...have to get packed for the train?' He faltered. 

'Do you not understand how serious this is?' she fumed, the closest to anger Remus had ever seen her. 'You endangered your life  _ and  _ your secret last night! I had to lie to Mr Filch to excuse your recklessness! I had to lie to a colleague to protect you!' 

'I’m sorry,' Remus mumbled. 

'I don’t know you handled any of these injuries at home. Because you have to, you  _ have  _ to give things time to heal. I’m not a miracle worker!' Her voice rose gradually, every bit of her characteristic composure slipping. Remus watched her expression fade from mild concern to borderline rage. 

'I mean, I’m one of the best healers in the country and I don’t know how to fix you half the time! I haven’t been able to wrap my head around how you’re still alive after six years of this. I worked at St. Mungo’s for years,  _ years,  _ Remus, and I have seen the horrors of this world first hand. I treated the first victims of this war, before we even knew what the Death Eaters were. I worked in splinching, in potions failures, in-in bloody werewolf  _ attacks _ ! What does it tell you that you’re the only patient I’ve ever had nightmares about?'

'That you care?' Remus responded, hoping he could diffuse the situation, hoping he could replace the guilt with humour. 

It was actually quite funny. All year, Remus had viewed Poppy as this indomitable force of magic, a weapon of empathy and a healer before all else. He hadn’t realised how young she was until now. He hadn’t seen the richness in her colouring, the absence of wrinkles from her face, or the brightness behind her worried eyes. She couldn’t have been older than thirty. She  _ wasn’t  _ a miracle, she was a prodigy and Remus was just part of her learning curve. 

'You’re the only werewolf I’ve ever met, let alone treated. No one...no one has done this before, at least not formally. There weren’t any chapters on healing self-inflicted werewolf injuries in my textbooks. There was only one mention of it in my training, and it was to say that the bitten were better left for dead!'

The words ‘better left for dead’ ricocheted in Remus’ head. It dug up memories of squeezing his head between pillows as his parents argued on the other side of his bedroom wall. Memories of moving out of their house in Surrey when he was only five years old. His mother singing Welsh lullabies to him as she pressed gauze into his skin. Crying at the sting, the smell of antiseptic sinking into raw flesh. His father’s wet eyes catching the pale light of sunrise as it broke the horizon. 

'I guess I just-I don’t know,’ he whispered. He blinked the tears out his eyes. He could only think of the bicycle rusting in the shed at home. 

'I haven’t ridden a bicycle in six years. I don’t know if I still can. I don’t-I don’t get to go outside, and-and do things like the other kids.’ He started blabbering, sobbing about all of the things he couldn’t do at home. He told her about the bicycle, about the trips to Swansea, watching the seasons change through his bedroom window.

There used to be a sick pleasure that Remus got out of the more gruesome injuries because it meant he got to go into the city. He never had to worry about running with broken ribs because he never had anybody to drag him through corridors, breathless with laughter.

'Our struggles age us in ways we can’t see,' Poppy began when he was crying too hard to say anything more. 'There are so many ways we lose our youth. But that doesn’t mean we aren’t young. It doesn’t mean that there aren’t better things ahead of us.'

Remus’ throat was dry and his tongue was heavy in his mouth; his breath was sticky and the tears traced lines down his face. 

'Right now, there are potions masters and healers all over the world searching for something to- to make this easier. I know it seems like no one cares about you, like no one cares about werewolves and-' she coughed into her sleeve. 'I know how frustrating it is to hide these of yourself, to live your life in between injuries, pretending like you’re not in pain every second of every day. But you have to remember what lies ahead. You have to remember that there are people who care about you and love you for everything that you are.'

Remus couldn’t hold it in any longer. Poppy stroked his hair as his body wracked with sobs. No one had ever spoken to Remus so candidly before. It was rare that someone would even call him a werewolf, like the word itself wasn’t something sinister. His parents’ sugar-coated things or they would change the subject. His father wouldn’t talk about the night he was bitten, his mother could function only in the present. She was unable to mention the past without completely breaking down.

He was eleven years old and this was the first time anyone ever told him to think about the future. He was eleven years old and he’d never felt older in his life. 

*

The train ride was quiet. James and Peter ended up with detention for the entire first week after break. Sirius didn’t say a word, except the occasional whisper to James. He gazed out the window with stormy eyes and lips pressed into a scowl. 

Peter tried to start a conversation several times and James would respond in short, one-word sentences.

Remus supposed none of the issues that arose last night were resolved. James was still cross with Sirius for going home for the holidays, Remus was still cross with Sirius for insulting Lily, Sirius was cross with Remus for being friends with Lily. Peter was relieved to have his wand back and anxious to tell someone about his daring adventure into the Slytherin common room. 

At the station, James’ and Remus’ fathers were engaged in a deep conversation. Sirius gave James a brief hug as they stepped off the platform, not even glancing at Remus before he walked toward a woman with long, glossy, black hair. Beside her stood a little boy who looked thrilled to see Sirius. Regulus, Remus remembered. Peter gave each of them a one-armed hug before walking back to King’s Cross. It didn’t look like there was anyone there to meet him. 

Lyall bid goodbye to Mr Potter. Remus gave James a nod before the two of them took off. They had a long drive ahead of them. 

'Was that Sirius Black?' Lyall asked as he slid behind the wheel.

'Yeah. Thought I told you he was in our room.' Remus said, despite wanting to talk about anything other than Sirius Black. 

'No, you didn’t. In fact, you only wrote us twice and one of those times it was to ask for my favorite record.' Lyall said, mock-bitter and flashing an uncharacteristically joyful smile. 

'I didn’t want to keep bothering James to send them for me. Since all the other owls...' Remus hadn’t even dared cross the owlery, knowing how animals reacted to his presence. 'You know.' 

'It’s alright, nothing to worry about. Just want to know you’re doing well’s all.'

Remus didn’t respond to that, instead wondering if Sirius was cross with him for getting them caught. He liked to think that Sirius would have followed him to the hospital wing, that he cared that much. 

'Wait--does that mean  _ Sirius Black _ was sorted into Gryffindor?' 

Remus remembered James saying something about Sirius’ family having a reputation. All the same, it was strange to hear his father talking about Sirius. 

'Yeah.'

'Really?'

'Can we please talk about something else?' Remus pleaded, something frantic in his voice as he turned to face his father. 

'Is something wrong? Did he-did he say something to you?' He loathed the accusing, almost knowing tone of his father’s voice. 

Part of Remus was thriving off being the one to withhold information. He couldn’t count how many times he’d asked his father what was wrong or what he was thinking about only to receive a single-word response. But then, the other part of him was so desperate to tell someone what happened. To have someone tell him he did nothing wrong, especially after the lecture Poppy gave him this morning.

But then, it was Sirius they were talking about and Sirius  _ hadn’t  _ done anything wrong. It wasn’t fair for Remus’ father to assume the worst of him. He understood, at least a little bit more now, that burning feeling behind Sirius’ eyes, why he was so defensive and volatile. 

'No! He didn’t say anything to me. We’re just not talking right now.'

'Oh.'

Lyall used to give speeches in the Ministry regularly. Remus knew that meant, at some point at least, he was capable of communication. Perhaps that skill was left in their Surrey house, or back in his old office at the Ministry because he froze up completely whenever he spoke to his son. Sure, they were able to talk about books and music, and a shared love of sweets, but anything substantial seemed to evade Lyall Lupin’s abilities.

There was half an hour where the only sound in the car was the radio station laced with static and songs neither of them liked. Remus watched his father’s eyes on the road, distant in their melancholy. 

'I didn’t have any friends until my third year at Hogwarts.' Lyall’s hoarse voice cut through the silence. The distance behind his eyes was reflected in his tone. Remus scrambled to listen, nearly on the edge of his seat. His father never talked about school. He never talked about anything before Remus was bitten. 

'I was sorted into Ravenclaw and I felt like everyone was brighter than me. They all read like you do. And I just couldn’t find anything that interested me enough to spend that much time on. It wasn’t until I had a professor tell me to start drawing that I realised there was something I was even halfway decent at.'

All of the sudden, it didn’t matter that Sirius was upset or that Poppy yelled at him this morning. He was getting something he wanted desperately for years: the pieces of his father that were scattered around the house in photographs and old trinkets, in the very uniform Remus wore to school. 

'Your grandad had a bit of a reputation as a madman and the other kids made fun of me for years. One time, I think it was one of Sirius’ uncles that started it, a group of students petitioned to have me thrown out of the school on the basis that I was deranged and dangerous.' Remus shivered at that and wondered how on Earth his father let him attend Hogwarts if that was a possibility, given that Remus  _ was  _ dangerous. 'But once I stopped caring about whether everyone else thought I was clever enough to be in Ravenclaw and what my father did, it was surprisingly easy to make friends.'

'What did grandad do?' Remus asked, hoping that Lyall would answer for once. 

'He- er, he had a few run-ins with the Ministry when he was younger, but mostly he was famous for a nervous breakdown that someone wrote about in the  _ Prophet _ . He was in St. Mungo’s rehabilitation for nearly a year, I think.'

'What’s the prophet?'

'What do you mean-oh. Well, no, I suppose you wouldn’t know.' Lyall spoke quietly to himself. 'It’s a newspaper. A wizarding one. Mostly rubbish and lies, but loads of people still read it.'

They fell back into silence with the city skyline long faded behind them. Remus gazed out the window, wondering if he should say something else. This was all uncharted territory for them. 

'Why does everyone know about Sirius’ family?' he dared ask, trying to seize the opportunity to catch up on everything he missed. 

'The Black family’s been around for centuries.' Remus’ father scratched his head. 'And they’re really wealthy, really involved in politics. But mostly, they’re famous for inbreeding and involvement in cult activity.'

Remus resented his father for not telling him any of this before he started school.

'Generally, the  _ Prophet  _ will write an article when one of them’s born. I think I remember reading Sirius’ while your mother was pregnant. At any rate, every one of them’s been in Slytherin as long as Hogwarts has been around.'

'Except Sirius,' Remus interjected. 

'Apparently.' Lyall nodded. 'His father, Orion, was in my year. Brilliant man, but absolutely despicable. Had a real knack for inventing powerful curses on the spot, which was impressive, even by Black standards.'

'What d’you mean by standards?' 

'Well, they- well, not just them. Most old pureblood families have long traditions of spell creation, but the Blacks are particularly known for it. Most common curses around today have some roots in their family. At least back in my day-it could be totally different now-but when I was school, there was not so much a rumor as a poorly kept secret that they tested new curses on their children when they got in trouble.'

Remus swallowed, remembering Sirius’ birthday and the word ‘punished.’ He felt ill at the thought of Sirius, who was just as much a child as Remus, having unfamiliar curses thrown at him. And by his parents? The people who claimed to love him? James’ wariness of Sirius going back home made a lot of sense. 

'‘S probably not true anymore. Time’s changing and all that.' Lyall added, sensing his son’s discomfort. 

'You should...I would still be careful around that boy, though. He might not be a Slytherin, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t share his family’s views. It’d be dangerous if he were to find out about-'

'I know.' Remus cut him off with a tone of finality. This was not a subject he was willing to discuss. 

He knew he couldn’t tell Sirius. He wasn’t planning on it--he wasn’t planning on telling anyone. James had found out because Roscoe Lupin had no sense of loyalty. No one else was going to find out, no matter what his father or Poppy said. 

*

Hope was standing in the doorway with a cigarette between her lips when the car slowed to a stop. Remus had forgotten how thin she was. Her willowy frame seemed to sway with the slight breeze. She wore her hair in a loose plait, streaks of silver catching the light as it filtered through the clouds. She looked much older and much thinner than Remus remembered. Lyall wrapped an arm around her small waist and kissed her on the cheek as Remus made his way inside. 

The first thing he noticed was all of the boxes. More of his grandad’s things had been delivered. The sitting room was filled with stacks and stacks of them. There were piles of books on every available surface, even covering the top of his mother’s piano (in spite of the unspoken rule that it was not to be touched by anyone).

He didn’t have time to fully notice the boxes’ contents before Hope demanded to see his injuries. Her doubt in wizard medicine was as pronounced as Poppy’s distrust of muggle science. Lyall stood to the side, watching with concerned eyes. His cardigan hung off his wiry frame the same way Remus’ school robes were always sliding off his shoulder. 

'Your ribs!' Hope exclaimed, her hands warm against Remus’ side. 'You haven’t broken ribs in ages!'

'I know…I’m sorry.'

'I don’t see anything else... ' She trailed off, circling around her son, looking for the collage of torn skin and stitches that perpetually lived on his skin. 'I don’t see anything else?'

'The Matron’s able to heal most of the injuries with magic,' Remus explained, 'but she can’t mend the bone if she can’t tell where the break is. And they don’t have X-Rays! Can you believe that?'

His mother's smile stitched together whatever frustration lingered from this morning and the night before. James and Sirius didn’t matter right now. Not when his mother wrapped her arms around him, muttering about how worried she was, how good it was to have him back home.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December ‘71, Part Two: Christmas, New Years, and delusions of ghosts.

**_Monday, 20 December, 1971_ **

Remus’ parents agreed to take him into town so they could all buy each other’s Christmas gifts. They still bothered with the used bookshop, even though Hope was pretty sure the whole selection was made up of the books they had personally donated over the years. 

Remus trailed his father as he wound through the shelves. Lyall navigated bookshelves with a specific grace that Remus hoped he would one day possess. He looked elegant and intelligent, long fingers running along the spines of philosophy books, pensive brown eyes scanning the pages for something worth his time. His tweed blazer, ancient and moth-bitten, looked smart and tidy on him. He smiled down at Remus, the lines of his face growing softer and fonder. 

'You haven’t read Hemingway yet, right?' he asked. Remus shook his head. 'Eh, you’re probably a little too young anyway…' 

He trailed off before handing Remus a sci-fi novel with a half-peeling cover. He picked a few others off the shelves before joining Hope at the till.

The woman who owned the shop looked even closer to death than she had the last time Remus saw her. She was nearly bald, although most of her head was concealed in a knitted pink cap. Her back dramatically hunched over the counter, where her hands trembled as she pressed the large keys of the receipt printer. The skin of her face sagged and shook with each word she said. Remus couldn’t bring himself to look away.

'You know, Lyall, now that your boy’s in school…' She spoke in a thick Welsh accent that Remus struggled to understand sometimes. He often wondered if his mother would sound like that if she never left, never went to Cardiff and met his father and followed him around England for the better part of a decade. 

'I could use some help around here if you’re looking to make a little money on the side.'

'Oh, I don’t know Alys.' Lyall raked a hand through his hair and looked over at his wife. 'I haven’t worked in so long…'

'He’ll think about it.' Hope said with a tight smile. 

'Well, I do need someone to help out or I’ll have to close shop. Since Jac’s moved in with that American...and-' she looked down at Remus and winked, ‘I’m not as young as I used to be.'

The rest of the trip was soured by his parents' silent argument. Hope had been trying to get Lyall working for two years and he always used Remus’ homeschooling as an excuse. Now, there was nothing stopping him, save his own fears. 

It did not ruin the trip entirely, though. Remus would always love the drive into Swansea, the weightless feeling as they crossed over the bridge. The landscape was the same, but now the roads were peppered with more cars. The towns they passed had more houses. 

They rarely drove the whole way, often just to Llanelli before getting on the train. But the driving was what reminded his mother that she was not going back into work, that this was supposed to be fun. Remus hated the train as well, it was so noisy and disorienting. His father eyed the fuel gauge nervously and he tapped his fingers against the wheel.

They went to a little record shop across the street. Its owner was a man called Alf who was impossibly much older and ruder than Alys. He liked the Lupins, although, like most of the shopkeepers, he insisted on calling them the Howells. He appreciated their taste in folk classics and occasionally chatted with Remus’ mother in Welsh. He grew up in a village much further west, but their two villages were similar in any way that mattered. Lyall often said that if you’ve seen one tiny, rural swath of land decimated by mining and war, you’ve seen them all. Hope did not find it that funny. 

Like always, Alf tried to speak to Remus in the native tongue. He clammed up nervously, hiding behind his father after choking out a nervous ‘shwmae.’

In the evening, Hope made tea back at the cottage and a half-hearted attempt to convince Remus to go up to his room and read for a while. But it was freezing up there without the warmth of the fireplace and his parents couldn’t argue with that logic. 

So Remus’ parents exchanged long, weary looks across the settee as their son watched the rain hit the front window _.  _ Hope curled up beneath a large blanket her mother knitted long before she was born and she rested her head on her husband’s shoulder. Remus sat on the floor in front of them, mesmerised by the water sliding down the glass, as one of them stroked his hair. Somehow, even when he knew they were arguing, or when there was something they didn’t want to discuss around him, it never really felt like anything was wrong. They were distant, as always, but never cold. 

They weren’t warm like James’ parents, doting on the boy constantly. Remus didn’t know what he’d do with that much affection. He already felt overwhelmed by James as it was. But the Lupins weren’t callous either, like the withering look Sirius’ mother gave him as he got off the train. They didn’t expect too much of him, like Peter’s mom giving him a map of bus routes and a bag of coins to get home. 

Maybe the house was full of boxes his father couldn’t sort through and Remus’ room was a permanent mess of half-read books and loose papers, salvaged bits of train tickets and Lyall’s old sketches. Everything in the cottage smelled at least a little bit like smoke, no matter how many windows Hope cracked. There was something elegant about Remus’ family that felt profoundly bittersweet to him, but he couldn’t describe it at eleven years old. It was comfortable all the same.

*

**_From James Potter to Remus Lupin, dated 21 December, 1971_ **

_ Loony- _

_ I know you don’t have an owl but Peter’s not allowed to get letters and the last one I sent to Sirius came back as a sack of ashes. Besides, I felt like someone should tell you what happened since Sirius was too busy pouting on the train.  _

_ For starters, Peter would kill me if I didn’t tell you about his heroic deeds. Namely, he took a Bat-Bogey hex for me. Not that he would’ve needed to if he stuck to the plan. Or if either of you had stopped him from following Narcissa. Seriously (or should I say Siriusly, haha) how’d you let that happen? Anyways, we got the wand back, no thanks to you two. Although I did have to take the cloak off to defend Pete and Slughorn caught both of us. We’ve got two weeks detention when we get back.  _

_ Filch let Sirius go with a warning, but he did try to follow you to Madam Pomfrey’s. You wouldn’t believe the lies I had to come up with to convince him you were fine. Speaking of which, he now believes you inherited the 'ill blood' from your mum. Sorry, it was the best I could come up with. _

_ He still feels awful about it though, like he’s somehow responsible for you getting hurt. I haven’t been able to talk to him, but I reckon he feels bad about how he treated you on the train, too.  _

_ He does this thing where he’ll act like a right prat and then sulk afterwards (I think it’s a family thing, even if he won’t admit it). Anyways, sorry about Friday and sorry about Sirius. Hope you’re well, see you soon. _

_ Your friend,  _

_ James F. Potter _

_ * _

**_From Remus Lupin to James Potter, dated 21 December, 1971_ **

_ James,  _

_ I’m fine, although my taste buds are suffering significantly. The kitchens at Hogwarts have absolutely ruined me for anything else.  _

_ You don’t need to be sorry for anything. It’s not your fault Sirius acts the way he does. I’m still upset about what he said to Lily, but I’m not angry anymore. D’you reckon ‘ill blood’ can explain broken bones? _

_ Thanks for writing.  _

_ Cheers, _

_ Remus _

_ * _

**_Saturday, 25 December, 1971_ **

Remus woke up on Christmas morning to James’ owl pecking incessantly at his window. The bird, a beautiful but restive tawny owl named Anika, carried a small box wrapped in brown paper. She fought Remus when he tried to take the parcel from her beak, instead dropping it on the desk and fleeing. 

_ I know we said we wouldn’t do gifts, but my dad thought you’d like this. There’s already film inside and everything. I’ll show you how to develop it when we’re back at school. Happy Christmas! _

_ Your friend,  _

_ James F. Potter _

Remus undid the bow and, in a bout of sentimentality, tied the twine around his headboard. Inside of the box was a camera, accompanied by a list of instructions on how to use the camera in cursive too neat to be James’. It was a brown leather box with a large lens that folded back into the body of it. Remus thought it looked exactly like a newer model of the camera his mother had when he was younger. Only, it made no sense for the Potters to give him a muggle camera. He doubted they’d even know where to get one. 

Lyall laughed when Remus showed him at the kitchen table. The sound came out forced and awkward, perhaps a little manic. 

'Fleamont got me a camera when I started school,' he explained. Remus wasn’t quite sure if the tears in his eyes were from laughter or something else. 'It was much,  _ much  _ bigger, though.'

His gaze drifted off to the boxes in the sitting room and Remus guessed the camera he was talking about was somewhere in the mess of his grandad’s things. The things his father had promised to sort through over the summer. Remus wondered if he’d even looked at them yet. 

The rest of breakfast was spent mostly in silence, save for Hope humming under her breath. She smiled a little too widely when Remus agreed to have an egg with his toast. At some point Lyall made his usual comment about replacing the cooker.

From his parents, Remus got two records and a new coat from the second-hand shop near the hospital. His mother gave him one of her favorites to take to school, Fairport Convention’s  _ Liege and Lief  _ and his father picked out Nick Drake’s  _ Five Leaves Left _ . 

His father was distant even after he made tea and Hope brought out the pudding. Like Remus, he hardly ate anything after breakfast, but eagerly tore through the apple cake. His eyes kept drifting back towards the boxes. Remus wondered how many old Christmas gifts and photographs lived in them. How many memories his father had of the holiday as a child, how many of them were spent at Hogwarts instead of home. 

By the afternoon, Lyall was sprawled out on the sitting room floor with a different Tim Buckley record on the gramophone. Normally, Remus would be inclined to lay down beside him, asking him questions and bothering him until he felt better. But today, he was too tired for that. Or maybe it just didn’t sound as appealing it used to.

His mother smoked outside, wrapped in a wool blanket that had been in the cottage longer than Remus. She was always especially worn out in the winter. Lyall cast heating charms in every room of the house daily, the only bit of magic he did since Remus was bitten. But it was rarely enough. The winters were hard. They had always been hard.

She raised the cigarette to her cracked lips, green eyes on the horizon, where storm clouds were beginning to gather once more. They looked like the smoke pluming from her mouth, dark and billowing, thin and grey. The smoking was as much a habit to her as the rain was to Wales. 

The house seemed lonelier than Remus remembered, full of people with no one talking. He couldn’t believe he ever thought this was normal. The scenes before him were a stark contrast from the warm, bustling energy of the Gryffindor common room and his dorm-mates’ constant conversation. 

Bored, he reached for the camera on the kitchen table. The metal was cold against his hands, the feel of it unfamiliar and heavy. It must have cost a fortune. He knew the Potters were wealthy, but this felt like too much. 

He unfolded the lens and tried his best to follow the instructions. He aimed it at his mother, perfectly visible through the kitchen window, and pressed down on the red button. The little box made a soft whirring noise followed by a  _ click.  _ Did that mean it worked? 

He wasn’t sure, but he figured he could just wait until he saw James next week. Or, next year, he supposed, as January drew closer and closer.

With nothing else to do, he joined his mam in the garden. He crawled beneath the thick wool and laid his head on her shoulder. 

'Have a good Christmas, love?' she asked, automatically pulling him into her arms. 

'Yeah.'

They sat together for some time, pensively staring out on the hills, now aglow with the orange and pink light of sunset. They watched as the lights flickered on down the hill, in the few windows of the shops, the church, the other farms miles away. All little specks of yellow amid the green. 

'We used to go to church every Christmas,' Hope whispered. 'My dad was in the choir and every year, every holiday we would go hear him sing.'

'Did Dad ever go with?'

'Once or twice...he never really cared for religion.' She looked over at Lyall through the glass, where he’d moved to the loveseat with a book, still mouthing along to the record. 'He loved the music, though.' 

*

**_Friday, 31 December, 1971_ **

Remus had forgotten how small the cellar was. It was no bigger than a quarter of the size of the shack. The walls now seemed to close in on him like they hadn’t before. 

The heating charms felt weaker than the ones at Hogwarts. They probably were. Normally, the feel of the cold stone eased his fever, but once it hit November it was cold enough to completely numb his hands and feet, the tip of his nose. Especially as the cellar was prone to flooding to help store and insulate milk when it was still the Howell farmhouse. 

Decades ago, one of his aunts died of frostbite, when she was much younger than Remus. 

Her name was Enid and she was eight years old. He couldn’t remember if she was the ill one, or if that was the other sister. It had been a while since his mother last brought it up. She rarely spoke of the past or her family. When she did, Remus collected the names and stories, arranging them into a tapestry of sorts. He held on tightly to the little bits and pieces of his family he got. The cottage was so empty for something so old and full of memories. Eventually, he hoped he would have enough pieces to string together his own history, his own stories of lost loved ones and the weight his blood carried.

When they first moved to the old farmhouse, Remus swore that he could hear their ghosts. Between all of the old furniture and notches in door frames, it was easy to see the Howells’ spirits lingering in the house, in the garden, the wide open fields of the country. His mother had none of it. Her family was buried by the village church, and as far as she was concerned, they were elsewhere now. If Remus heard laughter in the moments before the transformation, it was hallucination and nothing more. His father said that muggles couldn’t turn into ghosts anyway. Remus didn’t believe him.

He bet Sirius’ house was full of ghosts. An old manor in the heart of London, full of shiny silver and house elves, sulking boys and stern mothers. 

Perhaps it was Remus’ grandad’s ghost that lived in James’ house, somewhere in England. Wherever it was, Remus bet it wasn’t raining there. 

The ghosts in Peter’s flats would be old immigrants or industrial labourers, with thick accents and calloused fingers. 

There were no ghosts in Lily’s house, that much he was certain of. 

Beyond the door, Remus’ father sang softly. 

_ Should auld acquaintance be forgot _

_ And never brought to mind? _

It was their first New Year’s Eve not spent huddled around the fireplace in the sitting room, alternating between hot cider and tea, chatting until midnight. Hope would bring out guitar and act as though it weren’t the thing she loved most in the world. Most of the time, Remus and his father would just lean back and listen to her lyrical lilt, admiring how easily she got lost in the song. She was inside tonight. It was too cold for her to spend the night outside the cellar, too cold to share in her husband’s guilt. Or maybe she couldn't bear it, the winter had taken enough from her already. 

_ We'll take a cup o' kindness yet _

_ For days of auld lang syne _

Remus sang along quietly as long as he could, voice catching on yelps of pain or shaky inhales. It was still New Year’s Eve, and when he woke up, it would be 1972. 1972, the first year he would miss the turning of the clock for. Maybe it didn’t matter that he was entering the new year alone, without a conscious mind or an uninjured body. Because in two days, he would return to Hogwarts. He would return to James, Sirius, and Peter. 

_ For auld lang syne, my dear _

_ For auld lang syne _

The sounds of Lyall’s voice faded as the transformation began, drowned out by screaming and music and distant laughter. Remus’ last conscious thoughts were panicked meditations on the loss of their New Year’s traditions. In the moments just before, he thought he heard the strumming of a guitar and a sad voice singing through the upstairs window.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January ‘72: Fairport Convention, Treasure Island, and a full roll of film.

**_Sunday, 2 January, 1972_ **

They agreed that, whenever possible, Remus should spend the full moons at Hogwarts, even if they fell on holidays. He left the cellar the previous day with a concussion and a broken arm that his mother would have liked to monitor for another week, but Remus couldn’t afford to miss the train. 

Hope dropped them off in Swansea where they got on the train to London. The ride was even longer and more uncomfortable than the drive. It was a gruelling, nauseous four hours and Lyall’s nerves didn’t help anything. He nervously chattered and crumbled under strangers’ stares. Remus looked awful, bruised and pale and emaciated. He didn’t think that the women were looking at him and suspecting his father, but logic bounced Lyall when he was like this. 

'I think my ribs have been broken for two months now,’ Remus lamented to James as soon as the two of them slid into the same compartment they’d taken two weeks before. He was miserable. He was without a pain relief potion for two days. The bandages around his torso made it hard to breathe and the homemade sling on his arm did little to ease the discomfort. His fingers were still tingly from the cold. They all slept by the fire, hands cracked and chafed from their woolen gloves. Remus’ chest ached at the thought of leaving his parents, to leave his mother in the middle of winter. But that was a type of hurt Sudocrem and menthol salves couldn't ease.

'Can’t Pomfrey just mend them when we get back?' James asked, but Remus could tell his attention was focused elsewhere. His gaze was fixed on the platform, undoubtedly scanning it for signs of Sirius.

'You already know why she can’t,' Remus sighed. 'Are you really so codependent that you can’t go two weeks without seeing him?'

'I’m not codependent,' James snapped, not bothering to take his eyes off the platform. 'I haven’t heard from him at all. Is it so wrong to worry about my best mate?'

'I mean, I currently have more broken bones than not, but sure, worry about Sirius because he didn’t respond to your owl,' Remus muttered without any real malice.

James tossed him a bar of chocolate from his coat pocket before jumping up and barrelling toward the platform. Remus peered out the window and scanned the area. He found Sirius standing with his mother, Narcissa, and Regulus, holding his brother’s hand. Mrs Black was a tall, almost skeletal woman, who gazed upon her sons with disdain. She snatched the younger boy’s hand away and leaned down towards Sirius, speaking into his ear. He looked up at her and nodded. 

His hair was slicked back behind his ears, the ends curled into perfect ringlets, and a thick black cloak hung over his shoulders. He wore a stiff, formal set of navy robes, with a matching ascot and waistcoat. His mother grimaced as he gave Regulus a hug before turning towards the train with Narcissa. She diverted after Mrs Black and Regulus Disapparated, trotting towards where Lucius Malfoy was standing with a group of Slytherins.

Sirius nearly managed to board the train before James tackled him, a mess of long limbs and dark hair. 

Remus laughed, the hoarse sound echoed through the compartment. It had taken James all of two seconds to destroy the careful, guarded expression Sirius wore, to wrinkle the stiff clothing and mess up his hair. He watched as crowds of students walked around them, and Sirius struggled to get up. Among the bustling crowd was Peter, who managed to separate the two long enough to help Sirius up. 

Remus looked down at the chocolate James had managed to materialise out of thin air, and briefly entertained the possibility that he brought it just for him. He hadn’t eaten much in the past day, only leftover apple cake and a warm cup of chicken broth (at his mother’s insistence). The nausea was worse on the train from Swansea, but not as bad as it was yesterday when he woke up in the cellar.

He tried to hide his arm under his baggy muggle jacket before the others made it to the compartment, but between the bandages and the sling, it was impossible. 

'Loony!' Sirius exclaimed as he opened the door, 'You’re broken!'

'Keen observation, Black.’ 

'What happened? Did you run too fast?' Sirius sat down beside him, moving to poke at the makeshift sling. James and Peter moved into the bench across from them, the former visibly annoyed that Sirius hadn’t sat with him. 

'Very funny,’ Remus broke off a square of chocolate. 

'No, really, what happened?'

'Another casualty of a James cwtch,’ he joked and took a bite of chocolate before he had to answer any more questions.

'Alright, lads,’ James moved on, 'we have more important things to discuss than Loony’s sorry state.'

The rest of the train went by much quicker than Remus expected. They spent the time plotting a prank for Valentine’s Day. Remus tuned much of this out, insisting that he was done being involved in any of their pranks. 

Envy and anger writhed in his chest as he listened to them plan and discuss the logistics of multiplication spells. He laid his head against the window, watching the lush green landscape fly past them, feeling unjustly weary with age.

*

Poppy mended the broken arm in seconds and made him swallow two extremely bitter potions to treat the concussion. James watched from the sidelines, his face somewhere between disgust and fascination as she cut through the bandaging around Remus’ ribs. The skin beneath them was bruised in several places and two areas had darkened to a shade of purple that verged more on black.

'Well, it may be a blessing in disguise. I think I can see where the break is more clearly now. But, as I mentioned before, it’s not an exact science and there could be severe consequences if I misjudge where the break is. Do you want to risk it or-'

'Yes,' Remus got out before she could finish, desperate to breathe clearly for the first time in months. 'Yes please,' he corrected, seeing her eyebrows furrow.

'Alright then, if you’re sure….'

Remus knew the spell was one she had made up herself. Those were always the ones she whispered, like she was afraid of someone critiquing them. 

' _ Fuck! _ ' he gasped as soon as the bones knit themselves back together. He’d gone so long with that constant pain in his side he’d forgotten what it felt like to be without it. 

'Remus John Lupin! Language!' she tutted, but blushed with pride as he panted, grinning madly at the sensation. 

'That was so gross,' James said with awe as they walked back to the dormitory. 'How did she do that?'

'I don’t know. You could’ve asked.'

'Eh, then we’d’ve been there for hours. I’ve got a cousin who’s a healer, but she can’t fix bones or anything.'

'I think that’s something only Po-Madam Pomfrey can do. Or maybe just really skilled healers.'

'You’re probably right. Lizzie can’t mend anything, marriage included.' James paused, before adding, 'Actually, that’s kind of mean.' He went on to tell Remus about his healer cousin, Lizzie, who had an affair last summer. She took off for America a few weeks ago, bringing her two children with her. James’ mother sent her a box of presents for the children without telling James’ dad. This was the big scandal for the Potter family in 1971. 

'I mean it’s still her niece afterall, even if it’s my dad’s side. If she doesn’t want to shun her for running off, it’s up to her, right?'

Remus nodded, only half-listening. He didn’t really understand all of the inter-family dynamics of his friends’ lives. He didn’t have siblings, or even cousins for that matter. He had his parents and a house full of ghosts. He had a dead grandfather who was also James’ godfather. How many Christmases had he spent with the Potters instead of his own son over the years?

'I don’t know, I do think I’ll miss seeing Georgie ‘round the holidays. He has real marauder potential. Last Christmas he helped me plant his dad’s shoes in the back garden.' 

To some extent, Remus understood that James’ family wasn’t quite normal either. His grandparents, aunts and uncles died decades before he was even born. His parents were in their sixties, and the one cousin he had just moved with her children to the States. Nonetheless, Remus couldn’t help but feel envious of his family. 

He’d stopped listening to James entirely by the time they reached the dormitory, where Sirius was awkwardly consoling Peter. 

'That’s rotten,' Sirius said, shooting James and Remus a panicked look as they came through the doorway. 

'You telling him about your dad, Pete?' James asked. He sat beside Peter on the floor and wrapped an arm around him. 

Once again, Remus found himself in awe of how adaptable James was, ready to run into metaphorical battle or be a shoulder to lean on at a moment’s notice. Remus found himself wishing he had that transient demeanor, able to change so easily for others.

'Step-dad,' Peter corrected, nodding. 

'Pete’s step-dad’s lost his job and they might have to leave their flat in Islington,' James explained, failing to notice how uncomfortable it made Peter. Sirius stiffened before punching at the pillow behind him, settling his back against it. 

'How long have you lived there?' Remus asked. 

'Almost my whole life.' 

Remus remembered how hard his first move was, before he really understood why they had to leave. The next three or four were easier, he hadn’t been in the houses for that long. By the time Hope’s mother died and left them the old farmhouse, Remus had stopped caring about where they lived. 

'We moved around a lot when I was younger,' he dared to reveal. 'It’s not so bad.'

'They’re gonna move while I’m at school, though,' Peter mumbled, laying his head against James’ shoulder. ‘Won’t get to say goodbye.'

Remus didn’t know what to say. He was only five when they moved from Surrey and all he remembered was the first transformation in the basement, and then having to pack up everything. 

'‘S okay, Pete.' A solemn voice spoke up from the bed. 'Hogwarts is your home now. Doesn’t matter where you spend your summers.'

Sirius wasn’t exactly the most sensitive individual, with a poor reputation of resolving conflict and discussing others’ emotions. But he seemed to say the right thing here, because Peter sat up at that, beaming. 

'Yeah, yeah you’re right.'

*

**_Monday, 3 January, 1972_ **

Sirius was a surprisingly quiet addition to Remus’ library visits while James and Peter carried out their detention. He sat and read at Remus’ side, occasionally asking his thoughts on a particular passage. In fact, he was so calm and _un_ Sirius-like that Remus began to worry. 

'You know, I kind of thought you were going to talk me out of coming to the library,' said Remus when the situation’s strangeness proved too distracting. 

'Why would you think that?' 

Remus tried to think of the least insulting way to phrase this. 

'To be honest like, you don’t really seem the reading type.’

'Loony, I read every single textbook we had cover to cover before term even started,' Sirius replied, voice tinged with something Remus recognised but couldn’t name. 

'I don’t believe that for one second.’ Remus loved reading, but even he knew that their school books were too dull to actually read. Perhaps with the exception of History of Magic, the textbooks were skimming material, either too dense or too confusing to make sense of without a professor. 

'I don’t know how many times I have to tell you lot. There is nothing--absolutely  _ nothing  _ to do at my house. We’re not even allowed to read fiction. The only other option is talking to Reg, which isn’t really an option since he only wants to talk about quidditch.'

Remus wondered if he would ever understand Sirius Black. Each new piece of information he learned about him completely contradicted the last. He had accepted that Sirius wasn’t all brash and bristly and could be sensitive and vulnerable even if he didn’t know how to express it. Remus knew that Sirius liked pranks and making people laugh. He liked attention and found muggle music and culture fascinating. And yet somehow, it seemed strange that he would read for pleasure of all things. 

Perhaps this was only based on Remus and his father, but he felt that a certain temperament was required to enjoy reading; quiet, contemplative, prefer bystanding to taking action. He struggled to see Sirius, chaotic and mercurial as he was, sit down and enjoy a good book. 

'You can’t read fiction?' was all Remus appeared to have taken from the comment, unsure of what else to say. It was a ridiculous notion.

'Nope. Father says it will dull our intellect.'

'That’s absurd. How’ve you not read any fiction?'

'Well, I  _ have  _ read some _ ,  _ obviously. My cousin Andromeda used to sneak Reg and I books at dinner parties.' Sirius wrinkled his nose at the name, as though it reminded him of something unpleasant.

'She’d sneak you books? Like a secret?'

'It was a secret! We would be in trouble if our parents found out.'

Remus tried not to shudder at the word ‘trouble’, remembering what his father had told him about the Black family. 

'I could lend you some novels I have, if you want,' he offered instead of dwelling on the thought of Sirius' parents hexing him. 

'I won’t read  _ anything _ , you know,' said Sirius with a frown.

'How bad was it?' Remus asked, realising that Sirius held the answer to a question he’d desperately wanted an answer to for months. 'James’ book?'

'Without a doubt,  _ the  _ tackiest thing I have ever read.'

Remus snickered, feeling perhaps a little guilty but mostly validated in his own suspicions. 

'What did you tell him?'

'As much. That it was bloody awful and that he ought to start reading real books.'

'You didn’t!' Remus gaped. He wouldn’t dare insult something one of his friends cared about nearly as much as James loved those  _ Cursebreaker Chronicles  _ books. 

'I did. And I’ll tell you the same.'

'I don’t-I wouldn’t-' Remus spluttered, completely affronted at the insinuation that he would ever read something as lowbrow as that. 'I mean I only read muggle books-'

Sirius lit up at that, and immediately began talking about how long he’d been dying to read muggle books. He wouldn’t listen when Remus tried to tell him they weren’t all that exciting, instead forcing Remus to go get them from his trunk. 

He spent the rest of the evening camped out on James’ bed (never his own) reading through Remus’ copy of  _ Treasure Island.  _ Remus put on the record his mother gave him for Christmas and Sirius was caught between reading the muggle book and focusing on the muggle music. 

This was the first chance Remus had to listen through the record, and he was pleased to have these next two weeks free of James and Peter’s chattering to really focus on it. He wanted to write to his parents about the records by the end of the month, feeling more comfortable asking to borrow James’ owl now than at the start of term. 

The song started off with a rolling guitar part and a violin sitting neatly above it before all instrumentation gave way to a woman’s voice. The music eventually won the battle for Sirius’ attention and he joined Remus on the floor, watching in utter fascination as the needle glided along the vinyl grooves.

_ When first I deserted, I thought myself free _

_ Until my cruel comrade informed against me _

_ I was quickly followed after and brought back with speed _

_ I was handcuffed and guarded, heavy irons put on me _

'What’s she on about?' asked Sirius, rolling onto his back, pale eyes on the ceiling. 'If she’s the one who left, didn’t she have it coming?'

'I don’t know, she didn’t write it. It’s a traditional,' Remus responded, angling his neck to look at the other boy. With the last of daylight gone behind the Forbidden Forest, the only light in the dormitory was provided by dozens of candles, something that would’ve terrified his mother to no end. 

'Hmmm.' Remus watched his eyes flutter closed, his finger tapping the beat against his crossed arms. 

'Remus?'

'Yeah?'

'I like muggle music.'

Later, when the others returned from detention, James ambushed Peter and Sirius with Christmas gifts. He gave Sirius a massive knit blanket in Gryffindor colours and Peter a set of fur-lined gloves--the expensive kind, of course. He then began explaining to Remus how the wizarding camera works before Sirius took it upon himself to go harass Gideon to take a photo of the four of them, all crammed together on James’ bed. 

_ * _

**_Monday, 10 January, 1972_ **

Remus started taking photos of everything. The halls, the common room, even the quidditch pitch. He took photos of James sleeping (an excessive amount of drool was involved), Sirius trying on all the hats in the room behind Sir Gawain’s portrait, and Peter’s face just before winning a round of chess. He ran out of film after their first week back at school. James promised to get him more rolls of film for his upcoming birthday. 

He wasn’t exactly obsessed with the camera. It was more that he’d never had photos taken of him before. Not since he was very young, at least. The last photo of him was taken a few months before he was bitten, left in a half filled photo album. Now he had the power to get as many photos of himself and his friends as he wanted. He could fill his trunk with photos like his father did. And over the summer, he would have them to remind himself that he really did go to Hogwarts and he really did make these incredible friends. 

Peter felt the same way, he could tell. They had an unspoken understanding born of shared experiences that the other two would never quite understand. Every minute at Hogwarts was worth preserving. 

James teased Remus for burning through the film in a week, Sirius told him not every moment was important enough to be preserved. But then, the two of them had grown up with cameras and family portraits. James had photo albums for every year and Sirius had decades worth of paintings and photographs in his house. The last photo of Remus was taken in 1965 and the only photos of Peter were either at church or his mam and step-dad’s wedding.

Personally, Remus was sick of the sight of his permanent, unchanging sickly complexion but he still wanted to look back on it. Maybe ten years from now, he’d have more colour in his cheeks and would look back on this version of himself fondly. Maybe, when he was his father’s age, he would show his own children these photographs, and they would think he looked as cool as Remus thought his father did. 

Today, the others were off watching the quidditch team practice, Sirius only because he said he’d die if he had to spend another minute in the library. Remus was grateful for the time alone to brush up on his Astronomy charts. Or rather, he  _ would  _ have been grateful for the time alone, if not for the headache that was Hogwarts’ resident poltergeist. 

'Where’s the camera, Loopy?' he asked, floating above Remus' head, pretending to swim in place. 'Have we already broken it?'

'I thought you weren’t allowed in the library,' grumbled Remus, pulling his robes around himself. The poltergeist had started harassing him more since the prank in December. 

In fact, it seemed that the prank had cemented something of a friendly relationship between the four of them and the poltergeist. Normally, Peeves would only approach them to tease Remus and tousle James’ hair. But now, he approached them both to tease Remus and Peter, as well as consort with James and Sirius on whatever prank they were planning.

'I’m allowed wherever I want, thank you very much.' And then to prove it, he grabbed the Astronomy textbook from the desk and threw it up into the air. It landed back on the desk with a deafening  _ thud.  _

'Control yourself, demon,' Madam Pince snapped, eyeing Peeves with contempt.

'As you wish, Irma darling!'

'What do you want?' Remus sighed, giving in as Pince was going to provide him no aid. 

'It’s not always about wants, Loopsy.' He floated down to meet Remus’ defiant gaze. He narrowed his eyes, unsettling glowing orange, and grinned. 'Sometimes it is about company. And making sure we don’t go mad without ickle Potter and his Black sheep.'

'Well I’m fine, so can you go.' 

'Are you planning something?' He spoke lowly, just at Remus’ ear, a sarcastic buzzing. 'Something nefarious? With feathers?'

'No, stop!' Remus hissed in a whisper. 'That was just one time!'

'Oh, poor Loopy--can’t decide whether he wants to be the scholar or the fool!' Peeves wailed, rolling about, inches over the table. At the center desk, Madam Pince’s white knuckles snapped a quill. 

'I’ll be going then,' sighed Remus, frustrated as he crammed his books and quill into his bag. 'Please don’t follow me.'

'It’s much more fun to be the fool, you know.' He floated at Remus’ eye level as they left the library. The bells on his hat jingled. 'No one suspects the fool and no fool could possibly be dangerous!'

His mouth curled into a knowing smile at the word ‘dangerous’. Remus’ stomach churned. The poltergeist soared down the hall, singing from the top of his lungs as he blew gusts of wind from his mouth, scattering papers and messing up hair. 

'The fool is a most harmless creature!' he bellowed in a rich baritone. 'It is the quiet you must suspect. For a fool has a voice and an unburdened chest, but the meek are only saving their breath! The meek are only saving their brea-!'

It was a grand finale, with the last word held out in a deep vibrato. The sound ricocheted off the walls of the castle. The chandeliers shook, glass clinking together melodiously. While Remus was sure the last syllable, the closure of the final consonant would have been rewarding, he was thankful for McGonagall’s shout of ' _ Silencio! _ ' 

*

**_Monday, 31 January, 1972_ **

This time, Remus woke up in the shack. His eyes broke open, nearly stuck together with dried tears and mucus. For a moment, there was peace. Pale rays of sunlight breached the cracks in the walls, casting soft shadows of the half-broken banister on the floor. He could almost see the sun through a particularly large crack that gently let the weak light through. Everything was coloured in the faded hues of morning, the uneven floorboards, the claw marks running through them. It all seemed distant until Remus remembered why there were pieces of wood on the floor, why he was shivering on the floor. 

Remus then thought only of the cold, the absence of his clothes, the wind tearing through rotted wood, and biting at fresh wounds. He was never awake for this part of it. He had grown accustomed to waking up, already clothed, in the warm bed of the hospital wing. He was used to already having the fleshwounds sealed and the pain numbed by the time he woke up. He liked that he didn’t have to see this part of it. 

He dragged himself off the floor and every part of his body protested. He had to at least get some clothes on before Poppy came, now that he was awake. He limped over to where the pile of clothes lay. There was a sharp pain in his right knee with a long gash above it. Hot, sticky blood dripped down his calf in thick, meandering lines. This was ugly. This was the part he never saw, even at home. 

He struggled into his trousers and could only manage to pull a cardigan around his shoulders. He was thankful for cleaning charms as he could already feel blood soaking into the wool. He hated the thought of his mother seeing this. He couldn’t imagine what it felt like to see your child in such a vulnerable, pathetic state. He couldn’t even summon the energy to stay standing anymore. He was freezing and it felt like his joints were pulling apart, weighed down from the guilt of all things. He hated that Poppy had to come and patch him up. He hated that his mother had sewn his skin together like cloth before, and he never even thought about it. 

He leaned heavy against the wall and gazed through the foggy glass at the horizon. The sun was just breaking against the hills, spilling into the sky. The peace of it almost dulled the throbbing of his shoulder, his knee, the ball of shame knitting in his chest. 

It was the kind of morning that saw his mother in the garden, a heavy blanket on her shoulders, a cigarette in her free hand. Remus could see it perfectly. Her silver blonde hair, caught up in the collar of her coat, swaying with the breeze. The cup of tea in her hand and the steam fogging up the lens of her glasses. Her green eyes squinted at the light, deep circles beneath them suggesting that she had yet to sleep at all. With a turned face, she smiled at Remus in the doorway and waved him over. The lilt of her voice was warm and loving. 

'Come on then love, the lights are just coming off.’

Remus didn’t hear the latch of the trap door click open or Poppy’s panicked spell to catch him as he fell. 

*

'He’s up!' James’ voice cut through the deaf blackness. Remus clamped his eyes shut and tried to will himself back to sleep. If James was here that meant classes were finished and he’d been out the whole day. It meant Sirius and Peter were sure to show up at some point, loud and bickering and forcing Remus to smile. 

'I know I didn’t give you that much sleeping draught.' Poppy’s voice sounded stern as always, a concern in it that Remus could now detect. 'On up, then.'

He opened his eyes to the soft light of the hospital. Poppy stood over him. Her sharp features creased in focus. James sat to his right looking as solemn as he could.

'That’s a dear,' she said, pressing the lip of a vial to Remus’ lips. He wrapped his fingers around the glass and gulped it down. It was bitter, subtly minty.

'How are you feeling?' James asked, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeve. 

'Tired.' His voice came out hoarse. Poppy summoned over a glass of water.

'Potter,' Poppy said, handing Remus the water. 'Do you think you could grind up some of those moke bones for me while I talk to Remus?'

James nodded, jumping up from his seat and dashing to the cupboard. Poppy closed the curtains around the bed and turned to Remus with a smile. 

'It wasn’t so bad this time,' she started while tucking in the edges of the sheets around his feet. 'There were some gashes that I wasn’t quite able to heal all the way. But no breaks, no bites. But you did-'

'I woke up. Early,' Remus filled in, sinking into the pillows beneath him. 'I’m sorry.'

'Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a good sign. It means the transformation is getting easier.'

'I don’t know about that.' It certainly didn’t  _ feel  _ any easier, his bones still broke at every joint, rearranged into something grotesque. He still drew his own blood with fervor. 

'You might not notice it, but I’ve been doing some reading that suggests the transformation gets easier with age. Well,’ she sighed, ‘based on what little research I’ve  _ found  _ it seems to be one theory. Obviously, you’re still very, very young, but this is tremendous progress. I can’t say how relieved I was to find you without a single break, or even a sprain. I really think it’s going to get easier.' 

Her eyes shone with an optimism Remus longed to reciprocate. It just felt unlikely. Only a month ago, he’d gotten on the train with a broken arm, a concussion, and his third month of struggling to breathe through bandages. He couldn’t see last night’s lack of violence as anything more than a stroke of good luck. Maybe he was afraid to, because he would just be let down.

'Loony! How’s the blood?' Sirius' voice boomed through the hall. 

'Oi! Shut it, Black, she’s doing healer-y stuff!'

'What are you doing then,  _ Potter _ ? Are you-' Sirius’ laughed, 'Are you doing chores for the Matron?'

' _ I’m  _ being helpful, you ought to try it sometime.' 

'Right helpful of you to skive off Transfig-'

'Am I going to have to ask you to leave?' 

'No!' they shouted in tandem, Peter’s small voice lost in there somewhere. 

'Mr Potter, have you finished with those moke bones?' Poppy reached for the edge of the curtain, pulling them open to reveal the three boys. James, holding the mortar and pestle in his hand like a trophy. Sirius, tangled shoulder length hair caught between his robes and the strap of his bag. (Remus was starting to see why his mother wanted it tied back). And Peter, lingering behind them. 

'How’s the blood?' Sirius asked, ignoring the Matron’s scowl. He’d been gentler with Remus since they got back. Well, as gentle as a twelve year old boy could manage. Under the false, but well-intentioned, impression that Remus had some chronic, incurable muggle blood disease, he had been less cruel, less teasing. Remus wondered how long it would last.

'It’s...better?'

James rolled his eyes, wordlessly saying  _ Very convincing, Loony.  _ Remus tried his best to shrug, the puncture wound in his shoulder protesting. 

'What Mr Lupin means to say is that his condition appears to be improving.' She took the mortar from James’ hand, working her way towards the bench near the cupboard. 'But he could still benefit from more rest.'

'Rest is for the weak!' Sirius countered, earning a reproachful look.

'Is there a reason for this visit, Mr Black, or are you just here to annoy me?'

'Here for Loony,' he responded, pointedly ignoring Poppy’s glare. 'And his ill blood.'

'Keep out of my blood.' 

'No promises.'

'Told you he was a bloodthirsty spy.' James threw an arm around Sirius with a glint in his eye. 'Can’t be trusted, this one.'

'You were just grinding up bones.'

'I’d say that’s general wizard nonsense,' Remus added from the bed.

'Where do they even get the bones?' Peter asked, looking at Poppy. 'Do they like...harvest them?'

'Reckon they’re probably farmed. Are there potions farms, d’you think?' James continued.

‘They are  _ donated,  _ Mr Pettigrew.' Poppy shook her head at the four of them. 'Have some common sense, Potter. Honestly.'

'Who’s donating moke bones?' asked Sirius.

'And where do they get so many lionfish spines? Isn't it illegal to breed them?' Remus remembered reading about lionfish in one of the old marine biology books his father picked up at the bookshop. 

'You’re free to go to dinner, Remus, if you’re feeling up to it. But the rest of you- out now! I actually have other patients who don’t deserve to be subjected to this nonsense,' she huffed before muttering, ' _ I  _ don’t deserve to be subjected to this nonsense.'

As they walked out, he noticed Mary MacDonald curled up on one of the beds clutching a muggle newspaper in her hand. Her eyes and nose were red and puffy and she struggled to steady her breathing. 

*

After dinner, James and Sirius left to do something involving dungbombs and Remus and Peter found themselves in the common room. He had spent the past half of their conversation debating whether or not he should ask one of Mary’s roommates if she was okay. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about how upset she looked. He hardly knew her, of course, but he felt protective of her and all his other Housemates. 

'Hey.' After a lull in the conversation, he asked a girl who sat alone on the loveseat across from him and Peter. 'You know Mary, right?’

She looked up from her parchment and smiled sadly. She wore a thick jumper, the marigold wool complimenting the rich brown of her skin. Her dark hair was done in a series of twists that came to rest at her shoulders, framing her round face. 

‘Not very well…’ She said, ‘she and Marlene are in the other dorm but we’ve talked a few times. Why?’

Peter’s head snapped up in surprise as it always did when girls were involved.

‘Oh, that’s alright. I saw her with Pomfrey earlier and I was just wondering if she was okay.'

Remus had never spoken to Mary about anything other than schoolwork or occasionally whatever book she was reading but he liked her quite a bit. She never rowed with Lily like some of the other girls did, but then he supposed that might just be because Marlene took care of most of that. 

'Oh, yeah. She’s-er, she’s really shaken up about yesterday.'

The girl went on to tell them about yesterday’s massacre in Northern Ireland. Soldiers had shot at civilians and 13 people were dead. 

'Her family only moved from Derry over the summer, so it’s hit her quite hard.'

'I had no idea,' Peter said, and Remus struggled to find words. It sounded so horrible, but the thing that terrified him the most was the realisation of how remote Hogwarts was. There was no way of knowing what was happening in the muggle world besides letters and word of mouth. There weren’t any newspapers or televisions for miles.

He never paid much attention to the news back home, though it was always on. He knew at least a little bit about the conflict in Ireland and the workers’ strikes in England. His parents would talk about it at the breakfast table, but he always got the sense that he didn’t need to worry about those things. He’d always felt as though their house, their lives existed in a bubble, outside of the nation. To actually be in a bubble, like he was at Hogwarts, was terrifying.

They talked with the girl, who they eventually found out was named Dorcas, for the next hour or so. She didn’t seem to have as hard of a time making friends as Lily, but she was painfully shy. She stumbled over words and kept apologising for talking so much. All the same, she was kind and interesting, and helped Peter master one of the defence spells they’d learned earlier in class that day. 

The two boys only retreated to their dormitory when Lily came through the portrait hole, expression blank as she watched Remus with Dorcas. Her gaze never strayed as she sat with a book in what used to be their usual spot. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February ‘71, Part One: A game of truths with Sirius Black and the office of Professor McGonagall.

**_Friday, 4 February, 1972_ **

It started out as a normal day. The four of them woke up and went to breakfast. James teased Remus for having only a bowl of plain porridge while Peter gushed about the quality of the house elves’ cooking. 

Lily hadn’t spoken to him since they got back. Occasionally she would glance over in his direction with a sour expression on her face.

Even Defence was boring that day, as it was a lecture day and Remus could rarely bring himself to take notes. Maybe if he could use a pen, he’d be more inclined, but quills were messy and he still hadn’t got used to the feel of them between his fingers. 

James and Sirius passed notes back and forth across the classroom, as the latter had taken the furthest seat from James at the start of term. Sometimes James would pass a note to Remus, and he’d write a comment likening Sirius’ handwriting to that of a girl’s. A few times, they’d gang up on Remus, wildly misinterpreting his illegible handwriting and shaming him for spending so much time on his ‘nistory of ragic’ essay. Peter, as always, was too busy taking notes that he would neither be able to read nor understand later. 

Remus always tried to be the last one with their parchment of conversation so he could shove it into his pocket. It was silly and sentimental, but he wanted to have a trunk as full of memories as his father’s when he finished Hogwarts (or however long he could last at the school without being discovered).

Next was Potions, where Remus should have anticipated things going downhill. The four of them entered the classroom, James and Sirius at one bench, Remus and Peter at the one in front of them. 

At the bench to Peter’s right, Lily stood with Snape, pointedly ignoring Remus’ gaze. He wanted to apologise again, let her know how horrible he felt. Not that he deserved her forgiveness anyways. She was right. His friends were mean, and, most of the time, he thought they were funny for it. It didn’t take even a week for him to forgive Sirius after everything that happened.

'What are you looking at, Lupin?' Snape sneered, and Remus realised that he’d been staring at Lily this whole time. Quickly, he looked away, muttering 'nothing' under his breath. 

'Leave it, Sev,' Lily said. Professor Slughorn got up from his desk and began writing on the chalkboard. 

'I told you he was barking, didn’t I?' Remus heard Snape’s venomous whisper under the scratching of the chalk catching on the board. He picked at his cuticles and tried to tune him out. 'All the Lupins are,' he added while Slughorn wrote  _ Wiggenweld Potion  _ on the board. Remus dug his nails into his palm and remembered what his father had told him about his time at Hogwarts, about the rumors of his father and his breakdown.

'Today we’ll be brewing the Wiggenweld Potion, more commonly known as a healing potion, this brew has the ability to heal injuries. Can anyone tell me another use for this potion? It  _ was  _ mentioned in your reading from Wednesday.'

James and Sirius snickered from behind Remus, undoubtedly at the bottle labeled ‘flobberworm mucus’ on their benches. 

'It’s also a known antidote for sleeping draughts and the Draught of the Living Dead,' Snape drawled. The words slipped off his tongue as though the answer was painfully obvious, and Slughorn was stupid for asking. 

'Correct, once again, Mr Snape. Now, can someone else list some properties of the Wiggenweld Potion?'

Lily raised her hand tall.

'Yes, Miss Evans?'

'It can be green, blue, or red.'

'Excellent. Anyone else? Perhaps Mr Potter or Mr Black?'

'Er-' James began, struggling to stop his laughing, 'It uses flobber-' he and Sirius snickered '-flobberworm muc-'

He couldn’t even get the word out before the two of them lost it. They dissolved into joyful, raucous laughter. Slughorn only sighed in response. The two of them did so well in this class that it didn’t matter whether or not they knew what they were doing. Such seemed to be the case for James and Sirius in most things. 

'What about you, Mr Pettigrew, Mr Lupin?' 

Peter and Remus did not enjoy such privilege, as both of them routinely mis-brewed their potions, often ending in disasters Slughorn called ‘teaching moments.’ Peter looked at Remus with wide, panicked eyes as he began looking over his chapter notes, trying to make sense of histiny letters. Luckily, this was one of the potions Remus had an intimate knowledge of, having taken it multiple times a month for the past six months. 

'It’s-er- _ known  _ to have a bitter flavor, with a slightly minty aftertaste,' he said quietly, not quite meeting the professor’s eyes. Slughorn wasn’t necessarily an intimidating man, but his knowing eyes always seemed to look right through Remus, like he knew a secret. He might’ve, Remus supposed. He never knew for sure which professors Dumbledore had told.

'I don’t know about that aftertaste, but you are right about the bitterness. Well done, Mr Lupin.'

Remus felt self-conscious for the remainder of the class, both from Snape’s comment and from speaking in front of everyone. He kept picking at the edges of his cuticles and the scar on his palm as Peter stirred the cauldron. They were both rubbish at Potions, but at least Peter’s hands didn’t have the constant tremor Remus’ did. 

He was aware of everything; James and Sirius slipping dittany sprigs down each other’s robes and hushing each other’s laughter, Snape’s quiet instructions to Lily as she stirred their cauldron, the ache in his shoulder from the last full moon, the skin on his cuticles painfully torn and the sting of an old scar.

'Could you add the salamander blood now?' Peter asked, and Remus reached for the bottle. He added drops into the simmering cauldron. He felt Slughorn’s eyes on the back of his head, along with the rest of the class. Snape whispered something to Lily, and Remus swore he heard his name. 

It felt like everyone was staring at him, like they all heard what Snape said and were looking for proof. Like they wanted to know why he knew what the Wiggenweld Potion tasted like. 

'Loony?'

Like they could see the scars hiding under his sleeves, peeking out of his collar. Like they heard the way his joints cracked and creaked with each step, the growl beneath his murmur. Like they could see the flecks of yellow in his eyes, screaming to the world that he wasn’t entirely human. 

'Remus!'

And he wasn’t really, was he? He didn’t bleed the same way, didn’t scar the same way as everyone else did. His bones snapped into different places and when they broke they healed faster. His bruises were darker, verged more on black than purple and that wasn’t normal, was it? Just like it wasn’t normal to be eleven years old and covered in scars that begged to be picked at all the time. It wasn’t normal to be eleven years old and know that the only thing that really mattered was restraint in all things. Restraint in movement, in choice of words, in the urge to pick at old wounds until they-

'For Godric’s sake, Remus!' 

Cold fingers wrapped around his wrist and pulled him back against a body, into the desk behind them. Remus blinked out of his reverie just in time to see the contents of the cauldron explode into a thin, yellow smoke. The scent of metal and peppermint stung the air. 

'Merlin’s beard!' Professor Slugorn shouted. 'Everyone out! Right now!'

Remus looked around the classroom. The yellow smoke dispersed as students clamoured out of the room. He looked down at his own cauldron, the one his father had used decades before him, and saw the lip of it melting, smoking globs of pewter dripping onto the wooden bench. Did he do this?

The hand around his wrist tightened and Remus found himself being dragged out of the room. The crowd of startled students gathered outside of the door with what sounded like a hundred voices speaking at once.

'Remus, you’re bleeding.' Sirius spoke quietly at his side. Remus looked down to see the palm of his hand smeared in red. 

'Think I opened a scar,' he muttered, feeling even more ashamed of himself when he saw matching red stains on Sirius’ palms, on the cuffs of his sleeves too. 

'Alright, students,' Slughorn shut the door to the classroom behind him, 'and that is what happens when human blood contaminates a Wiggenweld Potion.'

Remus felt everyone’s eyes burning through him, staring at his blood covered fingers, the stream of scarlet dripping down his sleeve. 

'No worries, Mr Lupin. There is a teaching moment in everything. You may go to the Matron now, if you wish,’ Slughorn assured, 'Now, does anyone know why we had to evacuate the classroom?'

Remus didn’t stick around to hear the answer. He felt like he did just before moonrise: nauseous and hot and guilty and-

'Remus, wait!' Sirius shouted. His loud footsteps echoed against the stone corridor. 'Let me walk you.'

'It’s fine, Sirius. Go back to class.'

'It’s not exactly a burden to miss Potions, you know. Come on, let me walk you.'

'Fine. Do whatever you want, Black, you’re gonna do it anyways,' Remus snapped at him, feeling horrible and guilty and unable to look at his blood on the white cuffs of Sirius’ sleeves and the pale skin of his hands. 

'Yeah, I will.' Sirius seemed pleased with himself. Remus’ temper rolled off his shoulders easily. 'Wanna skive off?'

'I already miss enough class as it is. And I do actually need the Matron.' Remus held up his hand. 

'I nicked a bit of our potion,' he offered, procuring a small, green vial from his pocket. 'Just take that and we could go out to the lake?'

Remus wasn’t quite sure which he wanted to ask first--why or how. Sirius’ eccentricities were not as predictable as James’. James had all sorts of weird habits, like stealing shoes and keeping stones in his pocket. Remus wouldn’t have thought twice about James keeping random empty vials on hand to steal potions. This behavior seemed so strange undignified for Sirius, with his aristocratic features and effortless grace. 

'James saves a bit of every potion we brew in class,' he explained. 

'And you’re that confident you brewed it right? You know it could kill me if anything’s wrong with it.'

'Oh, it’s definitely right. I’ve never messed up a potion.'

Remus raised an eyebrow in a pale imitation of his father. Lyall had a particular face he made whenever Remus told an obvious lie. Mostly, the face was in response to ‘I did the reading’ and ‘It doesn’t hurt that much.’ It made Remus crack every time. 

'Sluggy told us it was fine before you blew up the classroom.'

'I did not-I didn’t  _ blow up the classroom _ !' Remus sputtered. They were nearly at the hospital wing now. 

'We did have to evacuate the room after your cauldron melted and erupted into toxic smoke, but whatever you say, Loony.' Sirius led him past the Matron’s door and pressed the potion into Remus’ hand. 

Remus uncapped the vial and swallowed the contents, if only so he wouldn’t have to respond. He watched the opened scar knit itself back together. It was amazing how little effort it took Sirius to drag him out of a bad mood. He’d just blown up the Potions room after Snape practically told Lily he was deranged, yet here he was, walking to the courtyard, laughing with Sirius like nothing happened. 

They made it to the lake shortly after Remus took the potion. Sirius collapsed into the grass almost immediately. Remus sat down, careful not to crease his robes. Beside him, Sirius squinted up at the thin light breaking through the clouds. 

'It’s freezing,' Remus said, looking at the frozen surface of the lake and the vague shadows he could make out beneath it. 

'Because you don’t have a proper cloak,' Sirius smiled up at him, flashing his bright teeth and wrapping his own thick velvet cloak around himself. Remus pinched the thin fabric of his school uniform cloak between blood-stained fingers. 

'I’ve got blood on everything,' he said, inspecting the soggy, crimson cuff of his sleeve.

' _ Scourgify. _ ' Sirius swished his wand and the blood stain was replaced with dozens of little bubbles that popped and left behind a clean sleeve. 

'Cheers.’

Flitwick said they weren’t supposed to learn scouring charms until Fourth Year. For what felt like the hundredth time, he wondered how much magic Sirius knew, and how and when he’d learned it. 

'How did you get a scar that deep on your hand anyways?' Sirius asked while Remus was still trying to figure out how he’d managed to break the skin in the first place. 

'And don’t lie,' he added. Remus’ gut wound around itself. His heart pounded with those three words. Three terrifying words.

'I was trying to open an old door… got cut on the hinges.' 

It was the winter of 1970. He’d gotten ill a few days before the December moon. The damp stone of the cellar made it impossible to feel anything. He was numb with cold. He pounded on the door as hard as he could, screaming and begging to be let out until the last moment. His tiny fingers, already numb, scratched into the wood and the metal hinge caught on the skin of his palm as the transformation took hold. He thought he was going to freeze to death. 

'Really?' 

'Really,' Remus mumbled and ran a finger along the scar, now just a thick line of white-silver flesh running from the base of his palm diagonally into his wrist. 

'Alright, my turn.' Sirius sat up and undid the clasp of his cloak. He wrapped it around both of them. 

'Your turn?'

'Yeah. Ask me something.'

'Really?' Remus gaped at him. Sirius wasn’t exactly known to be forthcoming with information. In fact, most of the time when someone asked him something personal he reacted without outright hostility. 

'Really!'

'Alright then...' Remus tried to think of something to ask that wasn’t overly personal. 'How do you know so many spells?'

'Merlin, you three are daft. I told you, I’ve read every single one of our books already.'

'Yeah read them! Not mastered the entire curriculum!' 

'I wouldn’t say “mastered,” per se. Charms are just easy--all the instructions are right there in the book.'

Remus laughed. Only Sirius could read the words 'swish and flick' and know exactly what it meant. 

'Okay your turn. Why are your robes thirty years old?'

'Hang on,' said Remus, not liking where this conversation was headed. 'What do you think this is? Some kind of truth game? I didn’t agree to that.'

'That’s exactly what it is!' Sirius proclaimed excitedly. 'A game of truths! Now come on, what’s with the robes?'

'It’s not that weird,' Remus rolled his eyes, deciding to indulge him. Afterall, it’s not like there wasn’t anything he wanted to know about Sirius Black. 'Sometimes people are poor, and don’t get everything new.'

'Yeah but I mean,  _ most  _ people will go to the second hand shop and buy robes that are from the same decade.'

'Well, I didn’t. Why’s your hair so long?'

'Last time I got a haircut, my cousin Bellatrix held me down and burned it off. After that, I swore I was never cutting it again,’ he responded. There was a gleeful tone to his voice as he pulled his edge of the cloak tighter. 

'That sounds… terrifying.' 

'Believe me, that is the least terrifying thing about Bellatrix. When she was at Hogwarts, she played Beater on the quidditch team and sent like three kids to St. Mungo’s.'

Remus still didn’t like the sound of being held down while someone burned your hair off, but he laughed with Sirius about it anyways. 

'How’d you break your arm? Really?'

Remus should’ve known they’d end up here. He wanted to continue the trend telling half truths, so he didn’t have to lie to Sirius. It finally felt like they were becoming close friends and he didn’t want to mess it up. 

'I ran into a wall,' he settled on, before adding, 'Don’t laugh.'

'I can’t tell if you’re joking.' Sirius narrowed his eyes at Remus, all grey and stormy like they got whenever he was in a mood. Remus shook his head, trying to look as earnest as possible. After a moment, Sirius seemed satisfied with this.

'Why were you so rude to Lily before break?' 

'She’s friends with Snape,' Sirius responded, a tone of finality creeping into his voice. He jumped to his feet and offered Remus a hand. 'We should probably get back.'

*

When they got back, Peter was waiting for them in the common room, pacing back and forth. 

'What happened?' Remus sighed, because a nervous Peter unaccompanied by James meant that something bad had happened and that James was in the middle of it.

'Where’s James?'

'He’s in Professor McGonagall’s off-'

'What happened?' Sirius descended on Peter immediately. His expression turned dark, almost accusatory. He never really sounded or looked worried, Remus realised. Sirius only had two modes--happy and angry. Perhaps a third, if you counted mischievous. 

'After you left Snivellus said something about-about-' Peter squeaked under the pressure of Sirius’ gaze. 'And then James he-he'

'He’s fine, Black.' Gideon walked over to them from the other end of the common room. His posture was hunched and there were deep circles beneath his eye.

'He and that Slytherin git started hexing each other after your Potions mishap, Lupin. While you two were skiving off, don’t think I didn’t notice, that’s a half point each. Lily got caught up in that mess, and had to go to the hospital wing after intercepting Potter’s hex. They’re both meeting with their Heads of House now.'

'What’s gonna happen to them?' Sirius demanded. 'Is James gonna be expelled?'

'This isn’t a  _ Prophet  _ story, Black. Of course he isn’t going to be expelled. McGonagall will probably just give him the first punishment suggested. She can’t stand being in the same room as Slughorn for that long.'

‘Are you alright?’ Remus asked. His gaze drifted down to the prefect’s hands. His knuckles were red, swollen, and the skin on them was broken and peeling. 

‘James is back if you…’ he made a vague gesture to the portrait hole. 

Remus looked over to see James duck through the doorway and by the time he turned back around, Gideon was gone. Sirius was already running over to greet him, with Peter trailing after him. 

'Looks like we have to get new Potions partners,' James said as he sat down near the stairs. 'McGonagall said we aren’t allowed to work together anymore, that we encourage each other’s bad habits.'

'All of us?' Peter echoed, adding 'But I didn’t do anything.'

'Already tried that, mate. She said you were an enabler and that that’s just as bad. She also said that it was a stain on Slughorn’s reputation to let two of his worst students work together for so long. Said something like this was bound to happen sooner or later.'

Remus blushed at that, embarrassed at his apparently famously bad marks in Potions. Peter only nodded at this, like it needed to be said. 

'Oh, and I’ve got a month’s detention scrubbing the Potions Dungeon with Snivellus.'

The three of them all muttered in agreement about how horrible that was going to be.

'And I lost us fifty points.'

'James!' Sirius lamented, 'You know we’re already behind and-'

'No, no get this--Slytherin also lost fifty, but then we got twenty-five back since Evans showed “astonishing bravery” when she got in the middle of it.' Remus couldn’t help but laugh at James’ horrible imitation of McGonagall’s Scottish accent on ‘astonishing bravery.’

'Is Lily okay?' Remus asked once they were all through taking turns at who does the best McGonagall impression. It was Peter, but Remus could’ve guessed that. Peter had been doing an impression of his wealthier friends’ accents all year. 

'Yeah, she’s fine but, uh-' James scratched the back of his head. 'I’ll tell you later.'

After that, the four of them curled up on the floor in front of James’ bed as they often did to plan pranks. The rest of the evening was spent discussing the Valentine’s Day prank, which James was fixated on more than ever. This also meant that Remus did not engage with the rest of them for the night, especially when he heard Lily’s name mentioned quietly. That, in combination with the furtive glances in Remus’ direction meant that, at some point, Lily had become a target. 

He felt like he should intervene and make sure she wasn’t involved in the prank in any capacity. But it was hard to confront them about it. Last time they hadn’t spoken for weeks about Lily, and Remus felt like he’d only just fixed things with Sirius. 

He ended up pretending to sleep until they were finished and retired to their own beds. Sirius read for another hour, immersed in one of the books Remus lent him. The light of his wand cast the outline of his figure against the dark curtains.

Even from across the room, Remus could make out every detail of his silhouette: the curling ends of his hair, nearly at his shoulders, the slope of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw. For the second time today, Remus found himself considering his own appearance, and feeling worse. His profile wasn't nearly so elegant and pleasing. His hair was frizzier, his nose was larger with a great big bump instead of a smooth slope, and his jaw was much softer.

'Remus?' 

The curtains parted to reveal a pyjama-clad James Potter. He didn’t wait for a response before crawling into the bed. He untucked the duvet from under Remus’ feet, pulling it over his own crossed legs.

'What?' Remus sat up reluctantly, closing the curtains and checking to make sure the others were still asleep. He didn’t want Sirius to hear anything that would make him start another fight with Snape. He definitely didn’t want to hear Peter recalling the details of the altercation like it was a muggle soap opera. 

'I wanted to tell you what Snape said,' James said, somewhere across from Remus in the darkness, 'because I didn’t just hex him for no reason. He had it coming--really.'

Remus’ gut twisted. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to feel that bad again. This morning should’ve been an anomaly, he shouldn’t have spiraled so deeply because of one comment. But he did, and he was afraid he would do it again. 

'I don’t know if I want to hear it, James. Just let it rest and try to ignore him from now on.'

'Not an option. He told everyone that you were a lunatic, that your whole family was right and truly mad, and it was just a matter of time before you topped yourself.' 

Remus shuddered at the thought. He knew his father had been bullied in school for supposedly being ‘mad,’ but he never thought it would be something he had to deal with. At least not beyond the nickname ‘Loony,’ which had started to feel more and more affectionate each day. Besides, even the ‘loony, loopy Lupin’ jokes were based on him being easily distracted as opposed to mad. 

'And what did you say?' Remus asked carefully, unsure of exactly how much James knew about his family history. He reckoned James still probably knew more than he did. 

'I don’t really remember but I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. Next thing I knew we were hexing each other and Evans jumped in the middle of it.

'But here’s the thing, Remus. She didn’t say anything to him. He was talking  _ to  _ her and she didn’t defend you,' James added, staring at Remus with earnest brown eyes.

'She doesn’t have to defend me,' he responded. He felt small and betrayed, despite the hypocrisy of it all. Here he was, letting his friends plan a prank on Lily, and somehow hurt that she didn’t defend him? It made no sense.

He had no right to be cross with her over anything. He was the one who let his friends insult her and plan to humiliate her. He deserved whatever Snape said, even if it wasn’t true. He deserved to lose Lily as a friend, he failed her long before she failed him. 

'Well she should’ve. You don’t let someone talk about your friends like that.' James declared, only amplifying Remus' guilt. 

'I let you lot talk about her like that, I let Sirius call her a-'

'No you didn’t. You told him he was being an arse because he was and then I gave him a good thumping for it later.  _ She  _ didn’t say anything until we had our wands out, and even then it wasn’t like she was coming to your defence.'

'I could’ve tried harder.' Remus muttered, head between his hands. 

'She didn’t jump in front of a curse for you, mate. It was for Snivellus. That’s where her loyalty lies. Nothing’ll change that, nothing you could’ve done to make her like you more.'

Remus curled in on himself. James was wrong, he had to be. Surely, if he hadn’t let Sirius insult her or laugh at Peter, things would be different. They’d still be friends. She’d still sit with him at the library and make small talk in the common room. They’d still listen to that Tim Buckley record and talk about muggle cinema. 

'I think you should go.' His voice was hoarse and puny. Remus was only thankful that James couldn't see him in the darkness.

'Okay, but I'm warning you now--that Evans is more trouble than she's worth.' 

*

**_Saturday, 5 February, 1972_ **

Professor McGonagall’s office was surprisingly small. A large fireplace took up most of the back wall. On either side of it were large bookshelves that had reached maximum capacity, with every inch of space occupied by either books or trinkets. The entire office was filled to the brim with such things, reminding Remus of his father’s crowded study at the house. Only where his father’s clutter was a familiar source of comfort, much of McGonagall’s things made Remus uneasy. 

There were a number of animal figurines along the mantlepiece that looked alarmingly realistic. Remus could’ve sworn they moved places every time he blinked. Many of the trinkets along the shelves did move of their own volition, weaving in between in the books and climbing the shelves like ladders. 

On the wall behind her chair was a moving portrait depicting the myth of Icarus, falling from the sky. His wide, crystalline blue eyes, although just barely visible, were frozen in panic. Remus shifted in his seat, sinking into the cushion and feeling small as he looked up at his Head of House. 

Her features were sharp and delicate, with prominent cheekbones and smooth brown hair pulled back into a tight bun. She moved with precision as she poured two cups of tea and slid a saucer across the desk to him. He wrapped his trembling fingers around the slender porcelain and raised the cup to his lips, wincing at the bitterness of the black tea. If the professor noticed, she didn’t say anything. 

'I’ve actually been meaning to ask you here for quite some time, Mr Lupin.' Just as in her lectures, McGonagall’s voice was clear and terse. Every word enunciated perfectly, every letter getting its own sound. It was the poshest Scottish accent he’d ever heard. 

'As the start of term is always hectic, I rarely get the time to meet with any of my students, even those in extraordinary circumstances.' She paused before the word “extraordinary”, levelling Remus with an expression between pity and respect.

'I don’t know if “extraordinary” is the word I’d use,' he joked, in spite of his heart pounding in his chest and his ever growing discomfort. 

'I would say being the first werewolf to attend Hogwarts is quite a tremendous achievement. All the same,’ she moved on briskly, sensing Remus’ discomfort. ‘I did ask you here to discuss the incident in the Potions Dungeon yesterday.'

'I’m really sorry about-'

'No need for that, Mr Lupin. I only believe in apologies if they are absolutely necessary. Otherwise you are just diluting their meaning when they  _ are  _ needed.'

'Sorry.' The word left Remus’ mouth before he could think about it. He bit back the urge to apologise for apologising.

'I do love First Years.' She laughed, taking a drink of tea. 'You’re all so very afraid of authority when confronted. Yet, you see no problem in missing half of your classes or “forgetting” to turn in assignments.'

Remus’ heart started beating even quicker. Was she talking about him and Sirius yesterday? She must be, since that’s what she brought him in for. Were they going to get detention? Was she going to-

'You must know that I’ve already talked to Mr Potter and Mr Snape about their altercation. But there were some matters that I wanted to discuss with you privately. Although I didn’t get the chance yesterday, as you and Mr Black decided it was a nice day for a walk.' 

Remus wasn’t sure if he was supposed to apologise here or not. It felt wrong not to, but then again, he didn’t want to waste all of his apologies on things she didn’t deem worthy. 

'I am not bothered about that, by the way. If you want to throw away your education, that is your prerogative.'

Remus took another gulp of his tea to avoid responding. He was getting much better at ignoring the bitter taste, only making a slight face this time. 

'However, the incident yesterday with your Wiggenweld Potion awakened me to some specific risks Headmaster Dumbledore and I had not previously discussed.' 

Remus stiffened in his seat. 

'I am under the impression that you contaminated the potion with your blood?' She raised a thin eyebrow. He nodded frantically, spilling the hot liquid onto his hand and staining the cuff of his sleeve in the process. He really needed to have Sirius teach him that cleaning charm. 

'Headmaster Dumbledore and I are not exactly experts in the potions field, we had completely forgotten that werewolf blood is a rather common ingredient in many Dark potions.' A brief flash of sympathy crossed her expression. 

Remus felt sick. How much blood had he lost over the years? Where did Dark potions masters get werewolf blood? Did people  _ pay  _ for it? Were there other parts of his body people bought and sold? Was he as much a commodity as a salamander or a lionfish? There was a twisting feeling in his gut telling him he was.

'While the risk of adding it to the Wiggenweld potion is the same as any mammal blood, I fear that that may not be the case as you advance in your Potions work.'

'Oh.' Remus’ throat was dry. He gripped the cup of tea with one trembling hand and the armrest of the chair with the other. His head was light and dizzy, brimming with questions he wasn’t sure he wanted answers to.

'Please understand that I am terribly sorry about this.' He supposed she meant it then. 'Professor Slughorn has not been made aware of the explicit details of your condition, but I am struggling to decide on a course of action that avoids disclosing that information.'

Remus didn’t particularly like the possibility of Slytherin’s Head of House knowing he was a werewolf. Slughorn was nice, but if Lyall had taught him anything, it was that friendliness did not mean acceptance. After all, his father told him to be wary of even Sirius. No one could be exempt from suspicion, no one could be trusted.

'James said that me and Peter aren’t allowed to work together?' He spoke softly, still recovering from the information. 

'Yes.' She smiled tightly, the way his father did when he was trying not to be too cynical. 'I think that your shared, shall we say,  _ struggles  _ in the subject lent a hand in yesterday’s incident.'

'Maybe then, if I work with James and just avoid anything sharp we wouldn’t have to tell Professor Slughorn?' 

'I don’t particularly love that idea, but I suppose you and Mr Pettigrew might be able to reign those two in. You four are already disruptive enough in my class, I can’t imagine what Horace must put up with.'

Remus wanted to defend himself and Peter. The two of them tried very hard not to get involved in the other two’s antics in Transfiguration, if only because McGonagall terrified them both. He decided against it, though, because he  _ was _ rather guilty of passing notes and encouraging James to mitch the days after the full. Instead, he took another drink of the bitter tea that was tragically unlike the kind his mother made. 

She chatted a little longer with Remus about his progress in her class, encouraging him to work a little harder. 'You’re a lot like your father, and his father, from what I’m told. Very, very bright. Although, I can’t help but suspect that, like them, you rely heavily on natural talent.'

Remus felt his face heat up. It wasn’t so much that he neglected his schoolwork. He just didn’t need to practise as much as, say Peter, to get by. He wasn’t nearly as good as James or Sirius or Lily, but that didn’t matter. It was challenging to focus on his studies when there was always something more important to worry about. 

Before returning to the common room, he promised to apply himself more in her class. She gave him full permission to ask for extensions on assignments if he needed them, so long as he actually gave the work his full attention.

'Oh, and one more thing, Mr Lupin.' She spoke up just as he wrapped his hand around the door handle. 

'Yes, Professor?'

'In future, if you would like milk and sugar, all you have to do is ask.'


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine’s Day ‘72, and three kinds of conflict.

**_Monday, 14 February, 1972_ **

The Valentine’s Day prank went as well as Plague the Second in that the only thing it achieved was widespread confusion and a mild source of amusement for the Headmaster. James was inept when it came to pranking specific people, resulting in yet another prank on Slytherin House under the guise of revenge on Snape for insulting Remus. 

James, Sirius, and Peter planned this one without him. He couldn’t begin to describe what the initial intent of the prank was: something to do with tricking Snape into thinking Lily had sent him a Valentine? Or something equally disruptive but easily accomplished. Whatever it was, it had devolved into something completely unrecognisable because James was involved.

On the 14th February, 1972, the Great Hall was overrun with a stampede of chocolate frogs. At first, there was panic, a few shouts of surprise. But the longer it went on, the sooner everyone realised how harmless it was and went about eating their breakfast.

Dumbledore seemed to enjoy it, making a game of how many frogs he could catch mid-air. Even McGonagall was mildly amused by it, if her half-smile said anything.

James was nowhere to be found, undoubtedly having hid somewhere to unleash their gargantuan amount of frogs. Peter was enchanted, reaching out and catching them when he could. Remus was pleased that the first prank he abstained from went so poorly, proving that, at least on some level, they did need him around.

'Very clever,' Remus said dryly. 'Might be your best work yet.'

'Yeah.' Sirius furrowed his brow, glaring at the sea of chocolate frogs leaping across the table. 'It might be.'

'I beg to differ.' Peeves loomed above the two of them, opaque black hair covering his orange eyes. His voice was lazy and unimpressed, 'I much prefer Loopy’s work with the chickens.'

'Sod off,' Sirius muttered, attempting to swat at the ghost. Sirius’ hand passed right through him, making contact with Remus’ shoulder instead. 

'Ickle Petticoat doesn’t mind my presence, does he?' Peeves rolled over to his back, baring the ghostly white skin of his neck as he stared at Peter through slit, glowing eyes. 

'N-n-no, not at all.' Peter paled, and leaned in closer to Remus. He was always amazed at how casually Remus regarded the ghost, falsely interpreting it as an innate fearlessness. 

'Leave them alone, Peeves,' Gideon sighed as he walked by their section of the table. 'Why don’t you go pretend to vomit frogs or something?'

'Oh that is a good one, Pre-fitter. Although I don’t need to pretend.' The poltergeist grinned mischievously before doing just that over the Hufflepuff table. It was truly abhorrent and Remus wasn’t sure he’d ever get the image out of his head.

'Nice job on the multiplication charm, though. That part is actually quite impressive,' he whispered to Sirius around a mouthful of toast.

'Shut up, Loony,' Sirius grumbled, reaching out and crushing a frog in his hand. 

'Was that really the best decision?' Remus decided that it wasn’t exactly fair, how much joy he was getting out of this spectacular failure as well as Peeves’ comment about his ‘work’ on the last prank. All the same, he delighted in Sirius’ scowl even as he wiped his chocolate stained hands all over Remus’ shoulder. 

*

James got another week of detention added on to his current month. Sirius, infuriatingly, had yet to be caught for anything. Even Peter had detention before, but Sirius’ record remained untouched. Although the injustice wasn’t the most frustrating thing about Sirius not serving detention. The most frustrating part of it was having Sirius around. 

'Well it’s no wonder you can’t get it. Your stance is all wrong!' 

'There’s a stance?' Peter echoed, limply holding the sock he was trying to mend. 

'Merlin, Peter. Are you sure you’re a wizard?'

'Lay off him, Sirius. It’s not like the mending charm is something he’ll need soon,' Remus sighed from where he was writing his History of Magic essay on his bed. He knew that was something Peter was actually quite sensitive about, since he grew up the only wizard in a family of muggles. 

'The mending charm  _ is  _ something he’ll need everyday!' Sirius quipped back, clearly affronted that Remus took Peter’s side. 'Not to mention it’s like the easiest one in the book! Literally anything with magic can do it.'

'You can sew, right, Pete?' Remus bypassed Sirius’ protests, trying to make them both stop bickering as soon as possible. Peter nodded, grateful that someone had finally intervened. 'See, he won’t need it.'

Of course, Peter would need the mending charm quite often, Remus knew. But it was becoming quite clear that Sirius’ temper was only hindering his progress. 

'Why don’t you go ask Gideon for help, Peter?' Remus suggested, knowing that Sirius’ mood was only going to get worse. 'He’s just down in the common room and he’s a great teacher.'

If Remus thought he sounded eerily similar to his mother telling him to get some fresh air, he forced that idea from his mind before he could really think about the implications of it. Peter left for the common room, and Remus could vaguely hear Gideon asking if he needed anything. 

'Is something wrong?' he asked Sirius as soon as the door swung shut. 

'Sod off, Loony.'

'You can’t still be upset about this morning, can you?'

'No, I don't care about the stupid prank.'

'Will you stop harassing Peter then? Just let him get there on his own.'

'I was trying to help,’ grumbled Sirius, collapsing onto his bed and retreating under the fluffy duvet James got him. Remus still struggled to wrap his mind around these moments when Sirius decided it was okay to be vulnerable. Just five minutes ago he was shouting at Peter, saying things he knew were hurtful ( _ because  _ they were hurtful).

'No, you weren’t. You’ve been sulking all day, and you already know that Peter needs more patience than you’re willing to give.' Remus set hit quill down, putting the essay aside until either James returned or Sirius wanted to be normal. A muffled response came from under the duvet, too quiet for Remus to hear without going over there. 

'James should be back soon.'

'Don't care.'

'You don't want to talk to him?'

'I don't want to talk to anyone.'

Remus reassigned himself to Sirius duty for the night, figuring that he wasn't going to get any work done anyway. He sat on the edge of Sirius’ bed, struggling to find the right words. These sorts of conversations weren't necessarily Lupin strong suits.

'Is there anything I can do?' he asked gently, prodding at him beneath the blanket.

'Put on the other record,' Sirius ordered softly, a skill that seemed unique to him. 'The sad one.'

'Which one?' Remus had to admit that both of the records his father gave him fell into that category. It was strange to think of Sirius moping to the same records both he and his father did. Then, it was also strange to think of Sirius, with his sharp tongue and bitter temper, feeling sad at all. 

'Green one.' 

'Okay...let me know if you want to talk.' Remus changed out the records smoothly. He sat facing Sirius’ bed with his back against the wall. Acoustic guitar filled the room. A gentle voice met it, pensive and sweet. 

_ Time has told me,  _

_ You're a rare, rare find _

_ A troubled cure _

_ For a troubled mind _

He wondered what Sirius made of the words to all these songs, if they sounded different to non-muggle ears. Remus couldn't help but think of his parents. He couldn’t hear the songs without hearing them sing along. Sometimes when he was feeling a particular way, he'd bend the words to fit his own life. But then, he'd grown up around all this music. Sirius was hearing it for the first time and Remus was the only connection he had to it. 

As the first song drew to a close, Sirius threw the blanket off. His face was stern and Remus felt stupid for thinking that he was ever anything but angry. 

'My cousin sent me this.' He held up a crumpled piece of parchment, throwing it down to where Remus sat.

_ Sirius- _

_ I don’t know what they offered you in exchange for that lovely letter, but I hope it was worth it. My parents weren’t supposed to find out we were still in contact, and now I’m afraid I can’t risk telling you where to reach me anymore. It’s too dangerous for me and for Ted.  _

_ Things changed right after you started school. My entire plan fell apart and I had no choice but to run. You have to understand that. I wouldn’t have left Narcissa if it wasn’t serious. We were discussing the betrothal and Father said to give him a name. And I chose wrong. It was a test--how was I supposed to know that? I said Bilius Avery and he laughed at me. He said he knew about Ted, that Bella told him everything and I hate to say it, but you and Regulus were the last thing on my mind. I had to leave, I had to make sure Ted was safe. I don’t know where we’re going or what to do. I can’t tell you where I am and I’m terrified my father is going to break down the door at any minute.  _

_ I don’t want to sell that story about Bella. As awful as she is, she’s still my sister. I don’t think she’ll even go through with all that Death Eater bollocks, at least not once she marries. But they’ve left me no choice. I have nothing else to bargain with.  _

_ As usual, the safe letter’s in the inside envelope. I’ll let you know if anything changes, but don’t count on it.  _

_ Stay out of trouble little Gryffindor,  _

_ Andromeda E. Black II _

_ P.S. I’m sorry I missed your birthday. I hope you had a good one, and fingers crossed I can see you soon. Things have been….hectic, to say the least. I know you hate to hear it, but you’ll understand when you’re older. I wouldn’t take any more of their deals, though. Otherwise you’ll end up like me, running from the consequences of a choice you made at fifteen. Don’t let them keep pushing you around. You don’t owe them anything, even if you were Sorted into Gryffindor. It’s not something you have to ‘make up for’ or whatever they’ve told you. Stay strong, for Regulus if nothing else. Love you. Please be safe.  _

Remus didn’t quite know what to say. He hardly knew who Andromeda was and what deal she was talking about. He knew she was important to Sirius, but all of the nuances of the situation escaped him. He could tell she cared about him a lot, from the way her handwriting grew looser towards the end of the postscript. He could tell she was worried about him. 

'I’m sorry, Sirius. That sounds awful.' He spoke gently, just barely loud enough to be heard over the record. 

'It’s fine.'

He approached the bed. Sirius pulled his legs to his chest, a sign Remus took as permission to join him. He wouldn’t dare take up any more space than necessary, though, and pulled his legs in as much as the healing scratch on his thigh would allow. 

'Do you want to talk about it?'

'No.' He wouldn’t meet Remus’ eyes. There was a faint blush on his cheeks, his mouth a thin line.

'Why’d you have me read it then?'

'I don’t know! Because James will be in detention for another two hours and he can’t say anything nice about my family anyways.'

The last part was let out in a huff. It rose over the music.

'And you think I’ll have something nice to say after reading that?' Remus responded, incredulous. Sirius’ parents didn’t necessarily sound like the good guys in those letters. 

'I don’t know. I just-I want to believe that Andromeda’s an outlier, that her parents are different. I don’t-I don’t think my parents would do that to me.'

'Do what?' Remus tried not to sound prying, despite being desperate for context. 

'I’m not solid on all the details, but I know that she did something really bad in her Fifth Year and agreed to marry whoever her parents wanted when she came of age so she could stay at Hogwarts.'

'They were gonna pull her out?' Remus didn’t know that was even possible. It made sense, of course, seeing as that parents had to give permission to attend. He assumed that the decision could only be made once. Worry that his own parents had the power to change their mind at any time started nagging at the back of his mind. 

'Yeah. It’s happened a couple of times. Mother always said she wouldn’t send Reg or I if Dumbledore kept changing the curriculum. But either way,' he continued, 'when Andromeda finished school last year, she ran off with some muggleborn boy and hasn’t talked to any of us since. Well, except me. But not anymore.'

Sirius looked absolutely crestfallen as he said this. The situation reminded Remus of James and his healer cousin who ran off to America, even though she was much older and there weren’t any betrothals involved. 

'What “deals” was she talking about in the last part?' he dared ask, only to be met with Sirius’ sharp glare. But then, his expression softened and his gaze fell back down to his hands. 

'Just like...deals our parents make with us. If we do something for them, we get something we want in return. It’s not that weird--James is just spoiled.'

Remus nodded. Back when his dad was teaching him, he’d let Remus pick the next book they read if he made through a chapter of the maths book. A few times, his mam would bribe him with sweets to stay awake after a particularly bad full moon. 

'Father said if I asked Andromeda not to tell the  _ Prophet  _ about Bellatrix, he’d let me write James over the summer. Maybe even visit.'

'Oh... that’s normal, I suppose.' Remus spoke slowly. It could’ve been normal. As far as he understood, both the Lupins and the Potters weren’t necessarily average parents. 

'Who is Bellatrix again?'

'You really can’t keep up, can you?' Sirius laughed, but it came out hollow and forced. Remus wanted to defend himself, and explain that no, Sirius hadn’t actually told him anything and was hostile any time he asked. But it was easier to just ask again, and let Sirius blame his memory. 

‘Bellatrix is my cousin, Narcissa and Andromeda’s older sister and possibly,  _ possibly  _ involved in a cult. But we don’t know for sure, and everyone thinks she’s just making empty threats.'

Suddenly, Remus remembered the beginning of term when James had started spreading rumors about Sirius being in some pureblood cult. He never thought about it.

But then, just as he was about to ask, Peter burst through the door triumphantly, holding a freshly mended sock. 

'I did it! And Gideon didn’t say anything about a “proper stance.” I was just overexaggerating the wand movement’s all.'

'Would still do you good to learn a proper spellcasting stance,' Sirius grumbled. All the vulnerability immediately vacated him. The scowl came back to his face and Remus no longer felt welcome. He climbed off of the bed and back to the floor. 

Sirius didn’t speak until long after James returned and pestered him until he coughed up the letter. Remus congratulated Peter on mastering the charm, finished his essay, and read for the rest of night. He tried not to think about what Sirius said, and tried not to feel frustrated at his ever-changing temper. 

*

**_Tuesday, 15 February, 1972_ **

It was a new moon day and new moon days were generally good days. Remus was more energetic on these days, able to stay awake longer and pay better attention in class. He was stronger both physically and mentally. 

On new moon days, he was better equipped to fulfill whatever role it was that James needed him to. What that role was was a different question entirely.

'Bet I can hit Snivellus with a jelly-legs from here?' Sirius said, propping himself up against the old oak’s trunk. Whatever vulnerability he’d shown the previous night vanished and he greeted the following day with a vengeance. He snapped at Peter no less than five times per class and tried to hex every Slytherin they passed in the halls.

'Nah, but I bet  _ I  _ can,' James responded, always at his side with a lopsided smirk. ' _ Locomotor Wibbly _ !' 

They all watched with varying degrees of amusement as Snape crumpled to the ground on the path ahead. Lily was kneeling at his side instantly, glaring at the four of them over her shoulder. That was really the only reservation Remus had. She was always there at Snape’s side, looking at Remus with a particularly vicious disappointment.

'Nice!' said Peter eagerly, looking up from his scribbled Defence notes. That was the thing about Peter, Remus realised. He might be meek and subservient, but he was desperate for entertainment at all times. Anything to distract him from schoolwork and his failing marks.

'Potter!' Lily shouted, pulling herself up from the ground. From this far away, the vibrant red of her hair served as her only identifier. That and her brisk walk toward them, glaring daggers the whole way there. 

'Wotcher, Evans,' James greeted, 'Weather’s lovely wouldn’t-'

'What’s your problem?' she fumed, wand drawn. 'All of you! Was it not enough to pick on your own friends? Had to move on?'

' _ I’m  _ not the one with a problem, Evans,' James said, somehow managing to turn the same cheerful smile sly and mocking in an instant. 'Besides, what would  _ you  _ know about having friends?'

'Really, Potter?' She arched an eyebrow, and they all knew what she wanted to say but didn’t have the gall to. 

'Are you sure-' Or rather, she didn’t have the mean-spirit to say it as she glanced at Remus and Peter. 'Are-are you sure  _ they- _ '

Her hesitation unfortunately provided Snape with an ample opportunity to sneak up on them. ' _ Petrificus Totalus _ !' James went stiff as a board and fell to the ground.

'Sev!' Lily scolded, 'I had it!'

Her face bloomed bright scarlet as she faced Snape with a scowl. Her thin, auburn eyebrows drew together, nose crinkled up. It was impossible to look intimidating with the round, apple cheeks of a child, but Lily did her best. 

‘Calm down, Lily. We talked about this,’ Snape murmured, low and almost embarrassed. ‘They only want a rise out of you.’

‘No, Severus. Let me handle this for once.’

'Of course, Evans. Please, go on. What was it you were going to say? We’re all quite curious.' 

Remus hated it when Sirius did this, reverting to his haughty, pureblood demeanor whenever he wanted to seem intimidating. He didn’t seem to grasp that he was just feeding into the rumours, feeding into a reputation he didn’t want. Like he spoke to the Slytherins as though they were on his level, whereas he spoke to Remus, James and Peter with an oversimplified tone. Like he went out of his way to sound common around them.

Peter was kneeling by James, whose eyes were darting back and forth as he lay motionless. Remus wasn’t sure where he factored into the situation, feeling as though he were more of a spectator, watching himself and the others from afar. 

'I was going to say-  _ Ostium Arnae! _ '

' _ Protego! _ ' Remus moved before he could think about it, wand drawn and stepping in front of Sirius the moment Lily opened her mouth. 

'Thought you had more sense than that, Lupin,' Snape drawled, hovering at Lily’s shoulder, mouth curled into a sneer. 

'Well which is it then? Am I sensible or mad?' The calm in Remus’ voice surprised him. In fact, the whole situation surprised him. How was it down to him and Sirius? Because frankly, Remus  _ did  _ have more sense than this. But there was something undeniably exhilarating about the way his heart thrummed in his chest but his mind was crystal clear. It was like a prank, like running through the halls after curfew, feeling invincible and free. He'd never felt quite this calm before. 

'You tell me.'

'I’ll tell both of you to be careful using magic that’s not yours,' Sirius said darkly.

Snape raised his wand, but Remus was faster, watching the scene play out before him in slow motion.

' _ Locomotor Wibbly _ !' And for the second time in ten minutes, Snape’s legs gave out beneath him.

'Remus!' Lily gasped, hand coming to her mouth.

The situation was changing. Lucius Malfoy was already striding over to meet them, wand at the ready. His long, blond hair spun around his face in the breeze, long black cloak brushing his heels.

'What are you doing, Sirius?' he said, already muttering a counter-spell for Snape’s legs.

'Oh, look, it's Snivellus’ knight in shining armor!' Sirius exclaimed and turned to Remus with a sharp, mocking smile.

So this was what it was like to be James, Remus thought. To be looked at like you were the only person in the world that mattered, like you were in on a secret nobody else knew. It was thrilling. There was a rush of its own in being seen like that. Remus was still reeling from the spell, his mind and body alert, ready for the next move. 

'You don't have to act out like this,' Malfoy continued with a withering stare. He frowned as he looked Sirius up and down, like a disappointed father. 'One mistake can be easily forgiven, but you’re digging yourself into quite the trench here.' 

'Oh, fuck off.' Sirius snarled, for once swearing like someone much older. There was no breath, no hesitation with the word, just pure contempt. At Snape's side, Lily’s hand fell from her face, the tips of her ears turning pink against the cool breeze. She grabbed Snape’s hand.

'You don't know me, Malfoy. You don't know anything about me!'

'I know that you're as deranged as your lunatic mother. And that it's a miracle she let you out of house long enough to-'

'Don't you  _ dare _ -don't you fucking dare say anything about my mother!' Sirius shouted, seething at Remus' side. There was something terrifying, something feral about the way his face twisted. His eyes, startling grey, narrowed. His lips curled into a vicious sneer. 

'What’ll you do about it then, Sirius?' His expression soured at the name, as though it tasted particularly unpleasant. 'I’m sure there’s more than enough waiting for you at home.'

'You bastard! You awful, incult--Malfoy! As if you’re any better than the rest of them. As if your brother didn’t marry a half-blood and you’re not using Narcissa-'

Remus’ hand was on Sirius in seconds, pulling it back as he raised it towards the Slytherin. 

'Sirius, that’s enough.' There was the voice of reason, far too late. The situation had devolved into something far more sinister and personal than any of them had intended. Lily’s face was white as a sheet as she cowered behind Snape, gripping his hand tightly. 

'Let-' He twisted his arm, but Remus was stronger. It was a new moon day, after all. '-let me go, Remus!' 

'Malfoy, if you wouldn’t mind…' He spoke calmly, inclining his head towards James. 

He held Sirius back by the shoulder now, gripping him tightly as he struggled and squirmed.

‘I don't take orders from mudbloods,’ he cast the counter-spell anyway, eyeing James with disgust. He laid a hand on Snape’s shoulder, leading him back to the castle with a cold glance in Lily’s direction. Snape dropped her hand. The apologetic look he flashed might've been the only sign of kindness he'd ever displayed.

'You’re just as mad as they say, aren’t you?' she said, doing a poor job at masking her fear. Her voice shook and Remus wasn’t quite sure which one of them she was talking to. 

'You think  _ I  _ keep poor company?' was all Remus could say, feeling sick as her expression fell.

Peter helped James off the ground, lips clamped shut.

'Let go of me,' said Sirius quietly. Remus did, but he wasn’t able to meet Sirius’ eyes again for the rest of the day.

*

That night when James returned from detention, Remus felt no guilt at listening to every single word of his and Sirius’ argument. 

'I don’t know why, okay?' Sirius whinged, 'I didn’t mean to.’

'And you decided it was fine to start blathering Death Eater nonsense about marrying half-bloods?' 

Remus was exhausted and happily relinquished whatever strength he had left in him to James. They had Herbology tomorrow morning and it seemed unfair that he had to do anything after today. He wanted nothing more than to stay in bed and scowl at Sirius for the rest of the week, making him feel every bit as hurt as he deserved to. As every bit as hurt as he and Peter felt. 

'I’m sorry! But-ugh-I panicked and-'

'I know!' James snapped. 'You panicked and decided to start repeating everything your mother ever said about his family.'

'James…' 

'Do you know how hard it is to deal with you? Do you know how many letters I’ve sent to my parents swearing up and down that you’re different, that you’re safe to be around?'

'That’s not fair and you know it.'

'You don’t think anything’s fair ‘cause you’re a bloody hypocrite.' 

'I don’t-I didn’t mean it. You know that, right?' Sirius’ voice was raw and pleading.

Remus could almost picture his face--half-lit by James’ wand, his wide eyes, bluer in innocence, perhaps wet with tears. He’d look younger, Remus decided, like a proper twelve year old. He’d look so upset that Remus would have caved instantly, if he were in James’ position. 

'Prove it, then.'

He never did. But the next morning, Remus and Peter woke up to four boxes of chocolate frogs on top of their trunks. And when you’re eleven and there’s nothing you fear more than loneliness, that’s the best apology you can hope for. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February ‘72, Part Two: Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon.

**_Saturday, 26 February, 1972_ **

Remus woke up in the middle of the night with a headache so intense he had to check the back of his head for blood. He stumbled out of his bed and down to the common room, careful not to wake anyone. 

The clock over the mantle read 2.15 AM. It was too late to go to Poppy, she was probably asleep and he didn’t want to wake her for a measly pain potion. At the same time, it hurt so badly he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done something to it or if it was just because of the waxing moon. 

He could see it through the window, casting pale beams of white onto the stone walls and the wooden floors. He paced back and forth, weighing the options, all the while it lingered in his sight, mocking him. And didn’t it always have to look so beautiful? Perfectly hung with pinpoints of stars in the dark sky, silhouetting the hills and the trees where they sprawled across the highlands. It wasn’t fair that something so beautiful had to cause him so much pain and grief, to the point where even acknowledging its beauty felt like some kind of defeat. 

'Lupin?' A groggy voice whispered from the large settee in front of the long dead fire. A mess of blond hair emerged over the back of it and Gideon squinted at Remus in the dim combination of moon and candlelight. 'What are you doing?'

'I can’t sleep,' he whispered back, debating whether or not to tell the older boy about his internal dilemma to go see Madam Pomfrey or not. 'My head hurts.'

'Have you been drinking water?' Gideon croaked, rubbing at his eyes. 

'I think so?' 

He got up from the sofa and stretched his arms up over his head. Remus realised that Gideon was wearing pyjamas. It was strange to see him out of his uniform, without the prefect badge and all. He was… oddly striking out of his usual context and Remus didn’t know what to make of it. He’d never felt this awkward or childish around the prefect before. Suddenly, he felt incredibly stupid for being out of bed this late and bothering people about his head, no matter how much it hurt. 

'Here.' Gideon handed Remus a glass of water and leaned back against the settee, eyeing him warily until Remus finished downing the liquid. 

'Were you sleeping down here?' he asked quietly. The water did nothing to quell his headache, but he still hadn’t made up his mind about going to the hospital wing yet. He’d probably need a prefect to escort him there anyways, now that he thought of it, and he already felt bad enough about waking Gideon. 

'Eh, sort of. Fight broke out with the girls about an hour or so ago. I’m waiting for them to get back from McGonagall’s,' he said, raking a hand through his thick, golden hair. He looked like one of those surfers in those horrible muggle films his mother liked.

Remus found himself so taken aback by this strange, casual version of the prefect. 

'And before you ask, I shouldn’t tell you but yes, your Lily was involved.’ He volunteered the information and Remus felt the need to protest his relationship to Lily. They hadn’t spoken in months.

'What was the fight about?'

'Don’t be nosy, Lupin,' he laughed, but continued, 'It had something to do with that slimy Slytherin kid she runs around with.'

'You mean Sniv-Snape?'

'Yeah. Think he insulted either Mary or Isabel-- that’s Spinnet’s sister, and they spent the rest of the night bickering about ‘til one of them drew their wands.'

'Oh.' So it was that kind of fight. Remus felt awful for Lily. He knew how much she hated that she wasn’t close to any of her roommates, or anyone in Gryffindor for that matter. Still, he had a hard time imagining her hexing anybody over something so trivial. 

'Yeah, Marlene cast a Knockback jinx on Lily and then one of the other girls, Laughlin-- her brother’s on the Hufflepuff team- got me and Saima to sort it out.'

Remus vaguely remembered Saima Alvi as the prefect who led the girls to their dormitories at the start of term. She was short and very witty. Sometimes she assisted Professor Sinistra with some of the Astronomy lessons. He thought he remembered her yelling at James for something at one point or another. 

'Is Lily al-'

'She’s fine. Although she did counter that jinx with something I hadn’t heard of before. One of those weird Malfoy ones we’re not supposed to teach, I think. I imagine she’ll get at least a week’s detention for that.'

'Oh.' Something about Lily using an illegal jinx on one of her roommates made Remus’ stomach churn.

'Your head still hurt?' 

'Yeah…' Remus suddenly felt quite awkward about the whole interaction and about knowing Lily got into a fight. More than that, he hated that part of him that took joy in knowing what was going on. He hated how inexplicably pleased he was to have this piece of information. 

'I could take you to Pomfrey’s if you want.'

'No, no it's fine. I think-I think I just wanted to walk around for a minute.' He stumbled over the words, blushing in spite of the pounding in his head. 

Thankfully, Remus was saved from any further conversation with Gideon as the portrait hole was slowly pushed open and the three girls crawled through it. Saima, the prefect, looked exhausted in a baggy muggle jumper. Her eyes kept fluttering closed as she helped the two First Years through the entrance. Lily was first, red-cheeked and teary. Her hair was plaited neatly and she was still in her uniform. As was Marlene, whose expression was steely. Her long black hair was pulled up in a loose ponytail. She smiled at Remus as she took Saima’s hand and crawled into the common room. They looked like they could have been sisters, with the same dark, hooded eyes and warm brown skin. 

'Please, Gid, don’t tell me your lot got up to something too.' Saima looked at Remus like she wanted to cry. 'I can’t take it anymore. Next time, I swear I’m letting Jane deal with it.'

'Good luck getting Jane to do anything. She nearly hexed me last time I asked her to cover a round.'

'Don’t remind me of rounds, please. It’s too late for that….or too early maybe?'

'I’ll have you know, my boys are perfect angels. Lupin was just keeping me company until you got back.' He laughed and Remus tried not to feel too embarrassed. Saima rolled her eyes at the notion of referring to James and Sirius as “angels”, as anyone in their right mind would. 

'What’s the verdict on these two then?'

'Three weeks detention, ten points each.' 

‘That’s generous.’ 

‘Eh, she was in the middle of a chess game with Williams and you know how  _ she  _ feels about discipline.’

‘McGonagall playing chess at three in the morning?’

‘Think she expected one of our lot to strike pretty soon,’ Saima laughed, ‘between Black and Evans it’s best to be prepared.’

Lily’s eyes welled up with tears and she wiped them away. She didn’t dare look at Remus. 

'I’ve only got two weeks,' Marlene corrected in a thick Scottish accent, 'Cause  _ I  _ only acted in self defence.'

'That’s rubbish and you know it!' Lily countered, raising her voice loud enough to where the two prefects had to shush her. 'You jinxed me first!'

'Well I wasn’t-'

'Girls! We’re not doing this again.' Saima looked miserable where she stood next to Gideon. Her head fell onto his shoulder, her dark hair contrasting against his pale skin. 'And that’s two weeks on top of your current month’s debt, McKinnon.'

In the wake of muggle newspapers infiltrating the school this week, Marlene had hexed quite a few muggleborns in Mary’s defense. 

'You’ve cost us more points than anyone,' Lily snapped at the other girl, 'even Potter.'

'Gideon, I’m too young for this. Please,' Saima waved a hand through the air, lifting her tired eyes as she looked at the younger girls, 'do your conflict resolution and mediation and whatnot. Whatever shite Fabian’s always on about.'

'Language, Miss Alvi. And you’ll never make head girl with that attitude, you know.' Gideon smirked at her, and the two exchanged a brief look of something the younger students couldn’t detect.

'Just you wait, Prewett,' Saima yawned, once again resting her head on the boy’s shoulder. 'I’ll be running circles ‘round you, come OWLs.'

'Oh, I’m sure.' 

Marlene’s gaze switched from Lily to Remus. In a strange gesture of camaraderie, she silently mouthed “get a room” and he smiled tightly, feeling incredibly awkward with Lily right there, still wiping tears from her eyes. 

'I think I’ll go back up now,' Remus whispered to Gideon before darting up the stairs. He heard the other girls’ voices even after he shut the door. 

*

**_Monday, 28 February, 1972_ **

Things only got worse from there. 

Monday morning’s Transfiguration saw Marlene McKinnon reclining in the front most desk that unofficially belonged to Lily Evans.

‘ _ Marlene _ ,’ she said, doing a poor job at maintaining the composure Snape was so fond of. ‘What are you doing?’

The other girl kicked her feet up on the desk, rocking backwards on two of the chair’s legs. Her long, dark hair was pulled into a tight knot on top her head, a muggle pencil stuck through. A muggle pencil that looked an awful lot like the one Lily used the week before. 

‘What? Am I not allowed to sit anymore?’ She flashed a grin then, the left side of her mouth higher than the right. If he hadn't known any better, Remus would've said she was James’ sister. The resemblance was uncanny.

The first book hit the ground with a deafening thud that made Remus flinch. Sirius punched his arm teasingly at that, too hard and right on a bruise. 

The second book was even louder, but at least Remus was ready for it. 

‘What the hell, Evans?’ Marlene shrieked, jumping out of the seat to grab her things. The third book narrowly missed her hand when Lily dropped it. 

'That's my seat.’

‘Seats aren’t assigned!’ 

‘I’ve sat here every day since September and you bloody well know it.’

‘I was here first,’ Marlene countered. She ran a hand along the front cover of her Transfiguration book (a very obvious hand me down) to scope out the damage. The back cover, which had looked as though it was hanging by a single thread all term, had detached completely. Frowning at the broken off cover, Marlene threw it at Lily and sat back down in the seat.

‘You only sat here to bother me.’

‘Do you really think you’re that important?’

‘Why else would you specifically take  _ my  _ seat?’ She shoved Marlene’s messenger bag off over the edge. Something shattered when it hit the floor, a clinky, almost melodious sound. Remus buried his head in the crook of his arm with one hand massaging his temple. The next eight hours until moonrise would be rough, the following eight hours even worse. 

‘Once again, seats aren’t assigned and I was  _ talking  _ to James.’

Remus could have whimpered at that, knowing it was about to get thirty times louder with a very high likelihood of ending in a duel. 

‘Oh really?’ He didn’t need to see Lily to know that she was arching an eyebrow, arms crossed with a scowl that looked more like a pout.

‘Oh really, Evans,’ James responded, voice amused. His leg had been bouncing underneath his desk since Lily walked in. He had been waiting, and, knowing James, hoping Marlene would drag him into this. ‘In fact, I believe we were just discussing whether or not you’d get expelled for using Dark magic on another student?’

Remus tilted his head to the side, watching James out of his periphery.

‘Personally, I don’t think you’re in any real danger,’ he leaned forward, grinning, ‘at least not yet.’

‘You’re one to talk. As if Black doesn’t know more Dark magic than anyone here.’

‘As if Snivellus doesn’t hang around Death Eaters.’

‘James…’ said Marlene warily. ‘That's not funny.’

‘What? He does! That Malfoy’s practically-’

‘Not now, James,’ That was Sirius, voice as thin and sharp as a razor blade. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Miss McKinnon, what are you doing in Miss Evans’ seat?’

Remus lifted his head at the sound of McGonagall’s voice, rubbing at his tired eyes. 

‘I was talking to James,’ Marlene grumbled, and quite daringly added, ‘you never assigned seats.’

‘Did it just escape your notice then that every student has sat in the same seat since term began, you included?’

‘No, Professor. I was just talking-’

‘To Mr Potter, yes. I’m sure the conversation was quite…’ she peered down at James, through golden half moon glasses resting on the bump of her nose, ‘riveting… but in future, do refrain from taking up my class time.’

Lily looked unreasonably pleased with herself. Marlene trudged over to the back of the classroom, her footsteps loud and heavy. He heard Mary whispering something, and another girl, Julia Laughlin, telling her that Evans was more trouble than she was worth anyway. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March ‘72, Part One: A twelfth birthday, the Byrds and Bert Jansch.

**_Wednesday, 1 March, 1972_ **

For all the time James spent in detention and with Sirius, there was still one block of time that belonged solely to Remus--the day after the full moon. It was nonnegotiable: if Remus was in the hospital wing, James would be there too. Even if it meant missing class, actually,  _ especially  _ if it meant missing class. 

He had a permanent seat beside the bed Remus usually occupied. Poppy had even stopped asking him to leave, though that was on the condition that he helped her mix potions and prepare bandages. 

'If you’re missing class, you might as well learn something,' she explained, and demonstrated how James might use the bandaging charm on Remus’ swollen leg. 

'It’s not too tricky, you just want to make sure you’re enunciating clearly and tapping  _ lightly.  _ Lightly, James Potter, do you hear me?'

James nodded erratically. His loose curls bounced with the movement. He eyed Remus leg carefully before gingerly tapping the tip of his wand against Remus’ ankle.

' _ Ferula, _ ' he whispered and the three of them watched the badanges unfurl like ribbon, winding around Remus’ ankle. James’ dark eyes widened at the finished product, as if he were shocked that it worked. Humility was a rare thing in James Potter, and a brief one too. He broke out into a grin, so wide Remus wasn’t sure his dimples could get any deeper. 

'Well done,' Poppy congratulated, patting him on the back. 

'Cheers,' James beamed. 'How’d he break it anyways?' 

'I’m right here, you know. You can ask me,' Remus huffed, feeling rather small under the hospital blankets and with James having just bandaged him. 

Poppy frowned, unsure if James’ question was crossing a line. She’d never exactly commented on the fact that James knew when exactly Remus would be in the hospital. At first, she exercised quite a bit of caution with letting his friends visit, but at some point, James became the exception. 

'It’s just a sprain,' she responded through pursed lips, eyeing the wound warily. 

'I think it got caught on something when I was...you know.' Remus trailed off, meeting Poppy’s intense eyes. They never really discussed the wolf’s penchant for gnawing on his ankle, though he suspected she could guess why. 

That was the problem with secrets. Well, one of the problems anyways. It was hard to tell how many lines there were to be crossed, how many layers of the same truth had to be revealed. It wasn’t enough for James to know Remus was a werewolf. There were the injuries, which he knew of but didn’t quite understand. There were nuances to the transformation, nuances to even the term ‘transformation’ in the first place. There was Remus’ childhood loneliness, his father’s study of scattered journals that hardly mention a 'cure' to lycanthropy. And, unsettlingly, at the back of it all, there was the question of Roscoe Lupin telling the Potters that his grandson had died in childhood. 

'Alright… how long should it take to heal then?' James immediately moved on. 'Because there are-er-' He glanced at Poppy. '- _ things  _ I would like to discuss with my... _ colleague _ about this upcoming month.'

Poppy rolled her eyes and walked back over to her potions desk.

'I’m not doing a joint birthday party, James,' Remus huffed. 'Everything you’ve suggested sounds horrendous.'

'Aw, come on, Loony! I’ve never had one before and our birthdays are so close it’d be a  _ crime  _ not to!' he insisted with wide pleading eyes. 

'Answer’s still no, James. I told you, I just want to do something like we did for Sirius. Quiet and legless.' Remus had never had a birthday party before. The closest thing to celebration they did was drive into Swansea so Remus could pick out a new record, and only then if they could afford it and he wasn’t too badly injured. 

'What if your leg’s healed by then?'

'Even then, I just want to stay in and listen to music, maybe play a game of Gobstones. I don’t want a party and I certainly don’t want anyone else there.'

James pouted, bottom lip out and eyebrows furrowed in imitation of Sirius. It was funny how they all started mirroring each other’s mannerisms just from sharing a room. The other day, Remus could’ve sworn he heard Sirius call something ‘lush’ the other day. It was almost as funny as the time he said ‘bugger’ in that absurdly posh accent and Peter wouldn’t stop laughing all day. 

'Can’t we at least do a celebratory prank?'

'No, I’m not being funny, I really am done with that. You can go ahead and get detention if you like, but I already miss enough class as it is.'

'But Loooooooony! You can’t-'

'James,' Poppy interrupted, keenly sensing Remus’ discomfort, or finding James too annoying to listen to any longer. 'Aren’t you supposed to be scrubbing cauldrons right about now?'

'Oh shit!' James exclaimed before grabbing his bag off the edge of Remus’ bed, muttering a quick apology and dashing for the door.

'Language, Mr Potter!' Poppy shouted after him, although Remus suspected it was just a formality. He’s heard her say far more profane things in the early hours after the full moon when she inspected his injuries.

'You called him James.' 

'That’s his name.' 

'But normally you call all the students by their last names. Unless they’re prefects, or me.' 

'I suppose it’s just with the students I know well,' she muttered, not looking up as she rewound a roll of gauze. 

'And you know James well?' Remus asked, trying to get her to admit she liked having James around as much as he did.

'I know his antics well. You’re lucky I even let him in here.'

'It’s not like you’d turn him away if I didn’t want you to.' He smiled cheekily and Poppy struggled against a smile. 

'Sometimes I wonder if you’re too comfortable here.'

*

'Er-Remus?' Poppy peered through the curtain and met his bleary gaze with concerned eyes. 'You have another visitor.

'Is it Sirius?' It couldn’t have been James since he was still in detention. 'Or Peter?'

'It’s Miss Evans. Do you want to see her or should I tell her-'

'No, I want to see her!' he interjected, clamoring to sit up in the bed, twisting his swollen arm painfully. 

'Okay…' She pulled the curtains back and walked down the corridor, returning with a solemn-faced Lily Evans. She was still in her school uniform, collar buttoned up all the way, tie neatly done. Her hair was out of its usual plait, pushed off her face with a Gryffindor-coloured hair band. 

'Hello, Remus.' She held her hands behind her back, swaying slightly by the bed.

'Hi.'

'I didn’t know you were hurt, otherwise I would’ve come to see you sooner,' she said and Remus bit back the urge to ask  _ would you? _ Because she hadn’t so much as looked at him since last December. 'I honestly just thought you were skiving off again.'

'Again?' Remus cocked his head to the side. He’d really only skipped classes once and that was with Sirius. 

'Well, yeah again. You’re always missing lessons. I asked Peter about it a while ago and he said your marks were so good you didn’t even need to go to class.'

'Oh…' He forced a laugh at that, knowing his parents would find it hilarious that he already had a reputation as a mitcher. He hated the thought, though, especially since not every professor knew the reason he wasn’t in class. 

Still, Remus was grateful for Peter’s discretion, even if he had to wonder why Peter thought his ‘blood disease’ was a secret. Unless….no. If James were going to tell anyone it would be Sirius. 

'Who told you I was here then?' 

'No one did! Well, I guess Potter did but it wasn’t really his fault. I saw him leaving the hospital wing and pestered him until he told me who he was visiting.'

Remus could already imagine how both ends of that conversation went. Lily would’ve been stern and relentless in her questioning, James coy and hostile in his answers. Wands were probably drawn at some point, perhaps a few hexes thrown back and forth.

'Are you feeling alright? What happened to your leg? Potter just said it was sprained, but I thought that Madam Pomfrey would be able to heal that quickly.'

'I-er we’re not quite sure if it’s just a sprain or a break. I fell pretty hard this morning..' Remus glided into the lie easily, keeping his tone cool and clipped. He was still angry with her after all, even if he did feel guilty about what Sirius said to her all those months ago. 'I’m fine. Just a little light-headed.'

He was mostly angry that she chose now of all times to start talking to him. She found out he was hurt and decided to stop ignoring him out of pity. 

'I was looking for you before I saw Potter anyways. I wanted to apologise for what happened before Christmas, for storming off and not talking to you. And then for everything that happened with Potter and Sev last month. And everything since then. I’m really, really sorry.'

'It’s okay,' he sighed. There was guilt in her voice. 'I get it.'

'It’s not okay, though. I ignored you and then made you feel bad for something that wasn’t your fault. I treated you so poorly after you’d been so nice to me.’ She sniffled before smoothing out her skirt as she sat down. 

‘And then everything after Valentine’s Day...oh, and what I said to you then. It’s unforgivable. You shouldn’t talk to me ever again after that.' 

She wiped at her cheeks, tinged pink with embarrassment and shiny with tears. 

'It is okay. I know things are...rough right now. Gideon told me about what happened on Saturday.'

'Oh God! I  _ knew  _ he was lying when he said he didn’t!' she exclaimed, grabbing fistfuls of hair in each hand, cheeks turning pink. 'You must think I’m horrible.'

'No, no! It just sounded bad for everyone.' Remus immediately moved to comfort her, remembering how hard she cried that night. He was more than slightly worried she would start sobbing like that now.

'It’s been so, so bad I can’t even properly explain it. None of them are speaking to me except Mary, but even then I can tell she doesn’t want to. Julia won’t even look at me.'

'I’m sorry, Lily.'

'You shouldn’t be. It’s my fault for letting things get so out of hand. It’s just so hard.' She took a shaky breath. 'I’ve known Sev forever and I don’t want to lose him. But he’s making it so hard to be friends with anyone else.'

'I’m sorry,' he repeated, trying to ignore Professor McGonagall’s piercing voice warning against excessive apologies in his head. He didn’t know what else to say. 'That sounds awful.'

'Thank you, Remus,’ she sniffled again. Then she took a deep breath and her brow smoothened, her mouth a fine line. It was eerily reminiscent of Lucius Malfoy, or Narcissa and Sirius with their pureblood composure. ‘But enough of that. How are you? How have you been?'

'I’m alright,' he gestured to his bandaged leg, as if the dark circles beneath his eyes didn’t give enough away. 'Things have been good, I suppose. I got a couple new records for Christmas...if you wanted to listen to them some time.'

'I would really, really like that.' 

She stayed in the hospital wing with him for the rest of the evening, swapping stories about their holidays and complaining about their latest Transfiguration assignments. 

‘I saw you talking to Dorcas a while ago,’ she said eventually, gnawing on her lip.

‘Dorcas?’ Remus asked, trying to remember who she was talking about. ‘Oh! In January. Yeah, we were talking about Mary after the um-you know, in Derry.’

‘Right.’

Another pause. She twirled a strand of hair around a finger nervously, eyes on the ground. 

‘Is she-is she friends with Mary and...and Marlene and Julia then? Or the other girl, Hudson’s sister-- Isabel?’

‘I don’t really know…I reckon she’s probably closer with the girls in her own dorm. I mean, we hardly talk to the other boys. I think Peter plays chess with Herring sometimes but outside of class…’

Remus knew nothing about the other First Year Gryffindors. James knew everybody, of course, and everyone knew Sirius. But Remus was limited. He even tried to avoid the prefects he didn’t know as well as Gideon. 

‘Yeah...yeah, you’re probably right.’ 

She didn’t bring up the other girls again, although Remus noticed that she was missing dinner to stay with him. He always hated seeing her during meals. She was always alone, at the far end of the table, contemptuously eyeing the other girls. Sometimes a prefect would take pity and sit with her, but mostly she would just sit by herself and pretend to read.

Sometime after dinner finished, Poppy gave him permission to return to his dormitory. With an arm slung around Lily’s shoulder, he limped out of the hospital wing for what felt like the millionth time this year. 

'In Defence today,' she began, expertly navigating them up the stairs, letting Remus shift most of his weight from her onto the banister, 'I heard your roommates talking about something rather interesting.'

'Oh, Merlin. Do I even want to know?'

'You might. Given it pertains to your upcoming birthday.'

'Oh, Lily, please don’t. James is already giving me enough hassle about it,' he groaned and tried his best not to breathe too heavily as he struggled up the steps. 

'I’m not going to do anything! Well, I might give you a present if you’ll let me. But I  _ was  _ wondering when it was at least.'

'Friday the tenth,' he responded through grit teeth. He bit back the urge to shift more of his weight onto her as they walked down the corridor to Gryffindor Tower. 'But please, you don’t have to get me anything.' 

'I might. No promises.'

When they arrived, the common room was loud and bustling. The Sixth Years had set up rings of mock-duels to practise for Defence. The Fifth and Seventh Years were in the early stages of exam preparation. Every loveseat and settee was occupied with students reading or revising. A number of them were on the ground, surrounded by parchment and half-finished cups of tea. 

Sirius sat near the fire, legs stretched out in front of him, pouring over Remus’ copy of  _ Treasure Island.  _ Peter was across the room with Gideon, who was attempting to coach him in some spell or another. James was probably still in the Dungeons, scrubbing his fingers raw against pewter. 

He looked over at Lily and traced the line of her gaze to the back right corner of the room where the other First Year girls were revising. Marlene’s eyes lifted from her book. Her dark hair was plaited that day, the collar of her shirt unbuttoned with her tie lying on top of her textbook. At Remus’ side, Lily shifted uncomfortably. 

'Oi, Loony!' Sirius’ shout interrupted whatever staring contest Lily was engaged in. She flinched at his voice, nearly forgetting she was holding Remus up in the process. 

'Alright, Sirius?' he greeted as Sirius approached them.

'Did you know that you write all over your books? I can hardly bloody read this thing.’ He waved the book around, one slender finger tucked between the pages to keep his place. 

‘I just underline the bits I like,’ Remus said, feeling the back of his neck grow hot. 

‘You muggles are complete and utter barbarians.’ It was a joke and Remus knew it was a joke, but his gaze still drifted warily to Lily. He half expected her to say something, but then she just laughed. 

‘Not all of us. I wouldn’t dream of writing in a book, let alone with ink!’ she exclaimed, shifting so she could narrow her eyes at Remus. ‘You’re a madman, desecrating a hardback like that.’

‘Great,’ said Remus dryly, ‘something you both agree on.’

‘I can take him off your hands, Evans, if you like,' Sirius said, giving Lily a small but polite smile. 

'I-sure. Alright' Lily seemed taken aback at Sirius’ civility. She shifted Remus’ weight onto his arm with a perplexed expression. She lingered after a while, eyes flicking back and forth between Remus and Marlene before she murmured a quick goodnight and ascended the stairs to the girls dormitory.

'So you’re talking to her again?' Sirius said once she was out of earshot, thinly disguising the contempt in his tone with mild curiosity. 'Even after what Snivellus said about you?'

Remus silently cursed James for telling him that. He didn’t know what else he’d expected, though. Keeping one secret from Sirius was already too much to ask of James Potter. 

'It’s fine now. We talked and worked things out.'

'If you say so,' he sighed, leading them up the stairs to the dormitory. 'How do you keep managing to break your legs just before birthdays?'

'Ill blood,' Remus responded disinterestedly. At the very least, Sirius found it amusing enough to not press for further clarification.

*

**_Friday, 10 March, 1972_ **

The morning of Remus’ twelfth birthday was anything but calm. His eyes shot open at seven AM when Peter let out a loud string of curses after tripping over a pair of shoes. He could imitate a middle class accent all he wanted; the most telling sign of Peter’s background was the fact that he cursed more than any grown man Remus had ever met. Even more than his father, which was actually quite impressive. 

Sirius and James still cursed like it was a thrilling act of rebellion. Their tongues treaded the words carefully, anticipating the bitter taste of soap. Remus and Peter had no such reservations. Peter’s parents definitely didn’t have the time to waste on disciplining him for repeating the words they shouted at each other and him. Remus honestly didn’t think there was a time when he hesitated before swearing. 

'Merlin, Peter,' Sirius chuckled softly, 'I feel scandalised.'

'Sorry,' Peter whispered nervously. 'Their shit is everywhere.'

'It’s Loony’s birthday--we can’t expect him to pick up after himself.'

'What about James then?'

'It’s my birth month.' James’ groggy voice called from the other side of the room. He sounded as annoyed as Remus felt. 'I’ve literally never done anything wrong in my life.'

'I’m sure,' Sirius said wryly, 'Birth month’s not a thing.'

Remus wrapped his pillow around his head trying to drown his roommates’ conversation out. He didn’t have to be up for another hour and he’d be damned if he couldn’t even sleep in on his birthday. 

'Please…' he begged, 'Please shut up.'

At home, Remus’ birthday wasn’t quite a celebration so much as a day where his mother bought sweets and took the day off of work. She would bake for him the night before and his father would let him pick the records they played. On his birthday, he was used to waking up to the scent of freshly baked bara brith and the soft glow of sunrise filtering through the curtain of his bedroom. 

'Good morning to you too, birthday boy.' Sirius’ voice was deceptively sweet as he tore open the curtains around Remus’ bed, assaulting him with daylight. 

'G’way. It’s my birthday and I want to sleep in.'

'Too bad.' 

The covers were forcibly pulled off of Remus, stripping him of warmth and comfort. He curled in on himself, intent on winning this battle of wills until he remembered that he was only wearing his t-shirt and pyjamas. Quickly he snatched back the duvet but the damage had been done. Sirius’ eyes held his for a little too long, uncomfortably blank. The absence of expression somehow felt more accusatory than the alternative. Remus squirmed under his gaze. It wasn’t the first time Sirius had seen the scars, but it was the first time he’d seen them this close. Close enough to discern teeth marks if he wanted.

'Fuck!' Peter exclaimed for the second time this morning after tripping over Remus’ abandoned History of Magic book from the night before. 

'Peter, it is seven in the bloody morning. You  _ have  _ to pace yourself.' James sounded awfully warm and undisturbed from the other side of the room.

'Get up, Loony.' Sirius finally spoke again. 'Or I will personally eat all of the chocolate James bought you.'

'Alright, fine!' 

He changed in the bathroom quickly, stopping only for a moment to inspect himself in the smudged mirror. He didn’t look any different. He knew the differences between eleven and twelve were slight, but he still halfway expected some form of tangible change. His hair was still the same shade of brown, going slightly gold and curling at the ends. It was a little longer than it was a year ago, he supposed. He’d grown maybe an inch total since his last birthday and he’d gained a few scars. The green of his eyes was just as dull, the dim circles beneath them just as pronounced. He looked just as small and just as sickly as ever. 

When he left the bathroom, the other three were already dressed and waiting in a half circle around his bed. James held two boxes in each of his arms, wrapped modestly in old editions of the  _ Prophet.  _

'Come on then, we don’t have all day!' 

Remus unwrapped the first package, from James, and took out the contents for the other two to see without leaning over his shoulder. There were a few items from Zonko’s, in spite of Remus’ current abstinence from pranks, and four bars of chocolate. The other box was from Mr Potter, and was slightly harder to open with everyone’s eyes on him.

There were a few rolls of film for the camera and at least a dozen photographs along with a note. 

_ Remus- _

_ I found a few of these photos of your father when he was younger and thought you might like to see them. I also threw in some film for that old camera in case you wanted to take some yourself. Happy birthday! _

_ Best wishes, _

_ Fleamont W. Potter _

He set the photos back in the box and set it aside, not wanting to look over them while everyone was watching him. He was most grateful for the film, though, which he had learned his lesson with. He needed to think about it like his parents’ thought of petrol. Every moment  _ was  _ worth preserving, just like every trip his mother made to Swansea was essential, but some were more important than others. There were a lot of mornings Hope could take the train without being late, and a lot of moments Remus could remember without tangible evidence. 

'Thanks, James.' He smiled, feeling slightly panicked. He didn’t have anything to give James for his birthday. 'You really didn’t have to do that. And neither did your dad.'

'As if I could stop him. You saw what they got Sirius and they haven’t even met him!'

The Potters were indeed a generous family and Remus found himself feeling guilty. He had no idea how he was supposed to repay them for all of this. He didn’t even know how to thank them in a way that felt meaningful. He supposed he could write them a card, but even that didn’t feel like enough. 

He tried to come up with the right words to write them as the four of them walked to breakfast, but he couldn’t get the phrasing right. At least not with the other three boys obnoxiously telling everyone they passed it was his birthday and he was twelve and wasn’t that so  _ old? _

'If Loony’s old, what does that make me?' Sirius lamented, sliding into the bench and grabbing a plateful of food. 

'Absolutely ancient.' James responded, slipping in between the two of them. 

They ate breakfast rather disruptively, shouting at each other and laughing raucously. Peeves, ever the prankster, wished Remus a happy birthday by covering him in sticky, green ectoplasm. 

'Believe me, when you learn the skurge charm you don’t know how useful it is.' Gideon swore, cleaning Remus up with a flick of his wand. Remus blushed furiously as the older boy tousled his hair and said happy birthday. 

They were laughing so hard, milk was coming out of James’ nose by the time the owls arrived. A whole flock of them, all varying shades of snow and taupe, descended on the students. And for the first time all year, one landed in front of Remus, laying down a small parcel labeled in Hope Lupin’s sloppy cursive. 

It was a beautiful, albeit runty Barn Owl, with round, black eyes that at least seemed gentle in their omniscience. He decided to call it Bert Jansch, after one of his father’s favorite muggle musicians. He also enjoyed the bewildered look Peter gave him for giving his owl a surname, and a muggle one at that. 

'People’ll think you’re a muggleborn if you name him that!'

'I’m not too concerned about that, Peter. And you shouldn’t be, either. Leave me and Bert Jansch be.'

James and Sirius repeated the name over and over like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard, which was a strong argument in favor of the name. He made a mental note to bring one of Jansch’s albums to show Sirius and Lily next term. Obviously not at the same time, as that would most likely end in a duel of some sort. 

The note was written on normal, muggle lined paper that Remus forgot existed. He felt a pang of jealousy. His essays always slanted downwards as he wrote, completely not used to the blank slate or the texture of parchment. He was adjusting to quills, at long last, but the parchment would take more time. His mother’s penmanship was loose and a little smudged, but still perfectly legible as it was written with the ever more appreciated ballpoint pen. 

_ Happy birthday, love! _

_ Your father finally got around to getting the damned demon bird so we could send you this. He said it should arrive the same morning, but I have my doubts. Regardless, I hope you’re having a good day or had a good day depending on when this arrives. You said your friends liked that Fairport Convention record, so I thought they might like The Byrds. This one used to be your favorite, if you can remember. _

_ Love, _

_ Mam (and Dad) _

Remus’ heart sank as he read the letter. He was more homesick than he’d been all year, the feeling only exacerbated by the warm loaf of bread wrapped in newspaper. 

'You’ve finally got an owl!' James hit him on the back, and Remus fought the urge to flinch at the sudden contact. It was really something he ought to be used to by now, having known him for nearly a year now. 

'And another album!' Sirius added, reaching for the record with sticky, jam-coated fingers. Remus held it just out of reach. 

The four of them clamored over the second slice of the bara brith, after Remus had already claimed the first. He bit into it and closed his eyes. The sweetness of the dried fruit and the warm spice was sensation enough to drown out the noise of the Great Hall. For a moment, he imagined he was at home, staring out at the garden from the kitchen table. His mother at the counter, pouring tea. His father just across from him, nose deep in a novel.

'I take it back. You Welshmen are allowed to sound as ridiculous as you want if you can make this.' James’ voice drew Remus back to reality, where the other three boys had nearly devoured the entire loaf. 

*

After class, the four of them ended up beneath a large oak tree. The early spring settled around them, with wildflowers blooming around the grounds and a soft breeze twisting the clouds into shapes above their heads. 

'That one’s mid Bat-Bogey,' Peter remarked and Remus craned his neck to see which one he could possibly be referring to. 

'No way, it’s a cat strangling a toad.'

'What are you on about, Sirius? I’m with Pete,' James said.

'Your glasses aren’t on. You can’t see shit.' Remus still hadn’t managed to find the cloud in question, but all the same, felt the need to question James’ judgement. 

'I can see just fine, thank you very much.' James squinted at him. There were bits of flowers stuck in his hair. Sunlight shone through the oak’s budding leaves, casting strange outlines and shadows on his brown skin. 

'How many fingers am I holding up?' Peter asked. James turned to face him. 

'Four. They’re just fuzzy.'

'Say, James,' Remus wondered, surprisingly for the first time, 'isn’t there some type of spell to fix your vision?'

'Yeah but I like the glasses. They make me look cool.' James grinned, sounding every bit as confident as he always did. Remus watched as Sirius poked a finger into one of his dimples. 

'That’s so stupid, why wouldn’t you rather have perfect vision?' Remus knew his mother would kill to not have to wear her glasses. She was always leaving them in random spots around the house and straining her eyes without them.

'Hey, it’s my birth month, you have to be nice to me!'

'But what if all I want for my birth _ day _ is to be mean to you?'

'Then you’ve been spending too much time with Sirius.'

'You might be onto something there….' Remus smiled at Sirius, who stuck his tongue out in response. 

'When’s your birthday, Pete?' James asked suddenly, propping himself up on his elbows. 

'July.'

'Hmmm… we’ll have to find a way to celebrate then.' 

'Fat chance,' Peter sighed, 'I’m not allowed to go anywhere over the summer.'

'Me neither. I’ll be lucky to get a week at Jamie’s before my mum wants me back for some banquet or dinner party,' Sirius added.

For the first time, Remus realised how much farther he lived from the rest of them. They all lived in England, for one. And both Peter and Sirius were in London. It would be impossible to see them over the summer. His mother could hardly afford the commute to Swansea even by public transport. There was no way he could make it to Wimborne or London, not when they already had to go to Diagon Alley for supplies and King’s Cross again in September. It was hopeless.

'Well I say we can do it. You lads know how much I like a challenge.'

'Speaking of challenge,' Remus changed the subject, trying to distract himself from the weight settling in his chest. He realised exactly how much he was dreading the return to his life at home without his friends. 'How do you think you did on that Transfiguration exam?'

'Oh, Loony, don’t act like it was hard.'

*

When the four of them returned to their dormitory, there was a small note on top of Remus’ trunk. 

_ Remus- _

_ IOU one birthday present. Hope you’re having a lovely day and those boys don’t get you in too much trouble.  _

_ Love, _

_ Lily _

He smiled at her pristine writing, the little heart above the ‘i’ in her signature. She was rather talented with a quill, with penmanship neat enough to rival Sirius’.

'Birthday card from your girlfriend?' Sirius taunted, leaning over Remus’ shoulder. 

‘She’s not my girlfriend!' he snapped back, creasing the note down the middle and tossing it into his trunk. Sirius had already moved on, reaching into his trunk and grabbing The Byrds record Hope sent this morning. 

'Oi, give that back. You’ll break it!' 

Sirius tried to hold it out of reach, but he wasn’t that much taller than Remus. It only took one jump to snatch it back. He came down hard on his ankle, though, and yelped at the sudden pressure on the mostly-healed ligament. 

'Careful there, Loony,' Sirius reached out a hand to steady him, 'thought we were keeping the day legless.'

'I’m fine!’ Remus snapped, pushing his hand away, ‘Just lost my balance.' 

He put on the record shortly after, carefully steadying the floating needle along the grooves of the record, and making the spin motion with his wand. James took it upon himself to break open Remus’ supply of birthday chocolate. 

The jangly guitar of the first song resounded through the room, and Remus recognised it instantly. His mother had played this album nearly everyday the year he was bitten. He vividly remembered laying beside her on the rickety bed in their Surrey house, with bandages wrapped around him as she sang along softly, lulling him to sleep. 

_ To everything,  _

_ Turn, turn, turn _

_ There is a season _

_ Turn, turn, turn _

_ And a time to every purpose, under heaven _

It seemed fitting that nearly six years later, he should hear the song with new ears, with a new life that was once deemed impossible. The words made more sense now, and they didn’t sound as sad as they used to. As Remus looked around the room, decked in Gryffindor colours, and his friends' smiling faces, he was struck by how lucky he was. This time last year, he had no friends and spent the days confined to the house. The most exciting thing to happen to him was the occasional visit to Swansea. His magic was unpredictable and uncontrollable. His father had said there was no chance of him going to Hogwarts at all. And then Dumbledore changed everything. 

James and Sirius were completely enchanted by the music. Peter admitted to enjoying it. The rest of the night felt like a dream, the four of them laughing and listening to records, sharing chocolate and playing games. They took turns snapping photos of each other. They harassed Gideon to once again get a group shot. It was the best birthday of Remus’ life. He was twelve years old and happier than he’d ever been. 

Only after they all settled into bed did he get the chance to look through the photos Mr Potter had sent him. By the dim light of his wand, he thumbed through the small stack. Each of them were dated neatly on the back right hand corner. 

The first few were of Lyall when he was really young, around age 2 or 3. He had the same mop of brown hair as Remus, and grinned madly at the camera with deep dimples on either side of his mouth. In one of them, he held a paintbrush and half of his face was splattered with paint. In another, he was sleeping against Mrs Potter’s chest, holding onto strands of her dark hair with his tiny fist. She looked down at him adoringly, and the moving photograph showed her looking back up at Mr Potter behind the camera, smiling softly. 

The next section of photos showed Lyall as a young boy, no older than Remus. Roscoe was in a few of these, standing beside or holding an arm around his son. He was young, surprisingly. Much younger than Remus thought he was when Lyall was a boy. His face was smooth, his hair a fluffy mass of waves on top of his head. He looked at the camera with a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. Lyall was much more somber in these photos, his eyes intense and posture stiff. He curled away from his father’s hand where it rested on his shoulder. 

The last photograph was one Remus’ parents had a copy of in their house, framed above the piano. It was taken at their wedding, with each of them standing in front of an obscenely large cake. Only, unlike the one at home, this one moved. It showed Hope grabbing a handful of the cake and smearing it into Lyall’s face, laughing, before he wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her. It was such a pure moment of joy, captured and preserved. He must’ve watched the scene replay a dozen times, taken aback at how happy and carefree they looked. 

He fell asleep staring at it, wondering at what precise moment his parents stopped looking like that. He ignored the tight feeling in his chest. Ignoring the small part of him that already knew. 

*

**_Sunday, 12 March, 1972_ **

Bert Jansch was a welcome addition to Remus’ life. In many ways, having an owl felt like the thing that made him a real wizard. He was relieved that he could communicate with his parents regularly. It had been two days and already they’d sent four letters back and forth. 

Not to mention that Bert actually  _ liked  _ Remus. No other animal seemed to. James’ owl was skittish around him, the wild birds on the grounds flocked from their branches when he passed by, the other students’ pets, cats and toads and rodents, scurried away or curled in closer to their owners when Remus was near. 

After they finally settled in Wales, when Hope’s father died and left them the old farmhouse, the Lupins had a birding phase. This was the result of three things: Lyall’s fascination with rural wildlife (after spending thirty-something years in metropolitan England), Hope’s desire to reconnect with her homeland, and Remus’ broken femur that took months to heal properly. 

They would sit in the garden on a half-rotted bench that they still had yet to replace and call out the birds as they flew overhead. Lyall with a book in his lap, Hope with rather impressive imitations of their calls and songs. The birds never got close enough for Remus to truly get a good look, to examine their features and see how accurate the book's illustrations were. They kept their distance, evolutionary instincts kicking in as they sensed a wolf lingering below them, innocently calling them by name.

Bert swiveled around in the darkness, large black eyes catching the candlelight. He stared at Remus curiously, shifting his head to the right, the left, and back again as if to ask a question. ‘What are we doing here?’ Remus imagined he would say, in a rich, gravelly voice like the wise owls in storybooks, ‘Are we not creatures of night? We are not meant for this existence--for candlelight in darkness, trading freedom for slumber.’

Remus had always had trouble sleeping. Ironically, it was the one thing he could not dismiss as a symptom of lycanthropy; it was probably the only thing he knew was definitively hereditary. Hope’s favorite weeks were the ones when she worked at the graveyard, and Lyall could be heard pattering about the cottage until three in the morning regularly. 

Bert let out a small, gentle screech. Immediately after there was the rustling of blankets, the thud of something hitting the headboard, and a groggy 'What the hell?' from Peter. 

'Ow,' James said, 'What  _ was  _ that?'

'Think it was your big head hitting the headboard, mate,' Sirius suggested. He too had trouble sleeping, but not like Remus did. Sirius would sleep in hour-long increments, tossing and turning, reading and running down to the common room in between. At least once Remus fell asleep, he stayed asleep. 

James, of course, had no problems sleeping. Only problems waking up, in that he never seemed to want to. Peter was average, though grumpy when he was tired. 

'Remus if you don’t take that thing to the owlery-' Peter started, voice uncharacteristically firm and full of rage, '-I will kill you.'

'With what?' he asked, reaching into Bert’s cage to stroke his head, running his fingers along the cool, slick feathers down his back. 

'I’m too tired to be clever,' the younger boy said into the darkness. 

'What’s your excuse the rest of the time?' Sirius asked smugly, and Remus heard the soft sound of a pillow hitting bed curtains.

Bert made another noise, somewhere between a shriek and low whinge. Someone began laughing warmly, definitely not Peter. 

'Remus!'

'It was Peter!' Remus shouted, encouraged by the laughter and feeling slightly delirious from lack of sleep. 'It was Peter with the candlestick in the dormitory!'

'What?' James asked, speaking for the first time since ‘Ow.’

'Oh, bugger off Loony. I’ve never even played Cluedo,' Peter said, traces of amusement creeping into his annoyance. 

'Me neither.'

'Owlery.'

'I can’t,' Remus said, realising that he could not in fact, use humour to get out of this. 

'Why not?'

'I just can’t and I don’t want to and I’ll figure out how to make Bert quiet, alright?' he said in a single breath, hoping they couldn’t tell just how nervous he was. The owls hated him. The one trip he’d made to the owlery was a swarm of feathers and loud, disorienting screeching. 

'Just use a silencing charm,' Sirius said with a yawn.

‘Absolutely not!' Remus hissed, completely affronted by the suggestion. 'That’s disgusting and wrong and completely inhumane.'

Sirius didn’t respond. The brief, static silence of the dormitory was cut through by Bert’s shrieking once more. 

'Throw a blanket over the cage,' James suggested. 'And if it doesn't work we can ask Hagrid what to do.'

Remus didn’t know who Hagrid was, but he did know that there was no way he would be subjecting himself or Bert to the utter chaos of the owlery. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March ‘72, Part Two: The Bat-Bogey Incident, Lily Evans’ temper and another twelfth birthday.

**_Tuesday, 14 March, 1972_ **

‘So it just...makes the spell stronger?’ Peter asked, frowning at his notes. 

‘No! No, Mr Pettigrew!’ Professor Flitwick chirped, hands snapping to his sides in exasperation. ‘Certain modifiers do, but not uniformly!’

‘But Professor!’ Lily’s hand shot upward, fingers splayed out as she tried not to interrupt again. ‘Arguably, don’t all modifiers strengthen the spell in some way? How do you determine a spell’s strength? What happens if you use numerical modifiers from another language? Does the “maxima” modifier only apply to broad-range spells or can it be used on things like _alohomora_ _?_ What would that look like? Would-’

‘One question at a time,’ the professor said calmly, ‘and do remember to breathe, Miss Evans.’

‘When referring to a spell’s strength, we generally mean its effectiveness at achieving its goal. If one were to use the “duo” modifier on a spell that does not require it, such as….’ he frowned, pacing the front of the classroom, ‘oh! Say the charms used on verbal dictation quills. The charm’s only intent is to transcribe, so it cannot be made more effective by a modifier. 

‘I am not an authority on cross-linguistic spells, I suggest you ask Miss McKinnon if one of her relatives can answer that for you. “Maxima” can be used on _alohomora_ with mixed results: it may unlock unconventional, or abstract things depending on the wizard’s intent and strength of magic.’

Lily’s eyebrows furrowed, and she bit the tip of her thumb. This meant she had many more questions but had decided they were not appropriate for the time.

‘What about “solem,” Professor?’ Sirius asked from all the way at the front of the classroom, where he’d chosen to sit, as far away from James as possible, at the start of term. 

‘It is a modifier designed to amplify the _lumos_ spell to blinding proportions, rendering it a viable method of attack as opposed to a mere tool.’

‘Does it only work on _lumos_?’

‘Well, yes. It wasn’t particularly meant for- Mr Black?’ Flitwick slid off of his desk, walking over to where Sirius was writing fervently on his parchment. 

It was too late. Sirius had already raised his wand, the incantation on his lips. 

‘Mr Black! Sirius Black, don’t- _Expelliar-_ ’

Within seconds, Professor Flitwick, along with every student in the classroom, doubled over in agony and discomfort. Even Sirius was not immune to the effects of his experiment. 

Remus wanted nothing more than to raise his own wand and hex his friend four times over. But he couldn’t. He was powerless against the flurry of large, mucousy bats forcing their way out of his nostrils. 

The classroom was full of them, all varying shades of jade and olive, yellow and brown. There were a few noticeable bats the colour of newly sprouted ferns, bright and vibrant. Remus was certain that this would end with every single one of them in the hospital with flu. 

After the longest forty seconds of Remus’ life, his head fell onto the desk. His nose felt like it was going to fall off and part of him wished it would. He kept sniffling, even long after they left the classroom.

Classes were cancelled for the rest of the day as Flitwick required the other professors to help wrangle all the bats. 

The four of them walked out onto the grounds in muted celebration. Spring unfurled around them, with the wildflower-ridden grass beneath their feet and budding oak leaves above their heads. Remus could only see these shades of green in comparison to the horrors he had witnessed in the classroom. The horrors he had _experienced_ thanks to Sirius Black. 

‘Stop rubbing at it, Remus,’ Sirius said, shoulder bumping against Remus’ as they walked, ‘it wasn’t that bad.’

‘No, it was. It really-’ he sneezed as they passed under an archway, wisteria vines in full bloom crawling up the side of it, ‘-that bad.’

‘I think Mary’s really gonna kill you,’ James said, ‘I’ve never seen her that mad before.’

‘It’s ‘cause her nose is so little. The bats wouldn’t all fit.’

‘Her nose _is_ tiny, but Marley’ll probably kill you anyway. You know how she gets about Mary and Julia.’

‘Contrary to what you might think, we don’t know all your girlfriends, Potter,’ said Sirius darkly. ‘Should I ask McGonagall to put me in a different detention this week? I don’t want to be alone with her…’

‘Hang on,’ Remus said, stopping to sit against the ledge of a planter. ‘When I want to sleep in or stay in the common room because my leg’s broken I’m a “coward” and “soiling Gryffindor’s reputation” but _you_ get to run away every time a girl threatens to kill you? Sounds pretty bloody cowardly to me.’

‘I don’t know…’ Peter said, looking over his shoulder just in case Marlene was in earshot, ‘she is very good with those hexes. She’s been in detention all year. Isabel said she hexes one person a day, every day and marks it off on a calendar in the dormitory.’

‘Normally, I’d agree with you, Loony,’ James sat down beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder, ‘but you don’t know McKinnon. On Christmas, she unravelled my jumper into a single thread _while_ I was wearing it.’

‘You probably deserved it.’

‘I did. Her cat was blue until New Years. It was bloody brilliant and totally worth having to wear her brother’s old Hufflepuff jumper.’ His eyes glazed over in fond reminiscence, ‘But I do think she might actually murder Sirius.’

‘What’s this about murdering Sirius?’ a boy asked as walked past them. He was sort of short and stocky, with a kind, angular face. He had a shaggy curtain of brown hair that covered his slightly-too-large ears. He was in Gryffindor, familiar but not very. Probably a Second or Third Year. 

‘Wait your turn, Frankie,’ James said with a smile, ‘the whole class wants him after that hex.’

‘That was Black?’ The boy, Frankie, gaped. He looked at Sirius with wide brown eyes before falling to his knees in a bow. 

‘They still haven’t caught all the bats yet. One of them got stuck in McGonagall’s hair. _You,_ ’ he pointed at Sirius, ‘are a _legend._ ’ 

‘Hear that, Jamie? I’m a legend.’

‘Shut up, Sirius,’ the three of them chorused in perfect, vaguely jealous unison.

*

**_Thursday, 23 March, 1972_ **

'Thank you, Remus.' Lily smiled brightly as she lifted her eyes from the parchment. 'You’re a good writer too, you know.'

'Eh, maybe when the subject isn’t Elfric the Eager.' He blushed at the compliment, fighting the urge to respond by reciprocating. He’d just told her how eloquent she was, after he finished reading through her essay on the Self-Stirring Cauldron.

'No, no. You’ve actually made it sound interesting! Well, at least in comparison to Binns.'

'Quite the accomplishment then…' Remus said wryly. Anything was more interesting than Professor Binns’ lengthy, monotone lectures. The two of them sat in their usual corner of the common room, near the staircase to the girl's dormitories. James and Peter were outside watching the quidditch team practice, and Sirius seemed quite content pestering Gideon by the fireplace. 

They were far enough from everyone to where they could play a record without being disruptive. Remus had brought down _Liege and Lief,_ eager to get Lily’s opinion on it. He loved it, but then that could just be because it reminded him of his mother. Sirius loved it, but then that was because he’d barely heard anything else. James and Peter were rather indifferent towards most of Remus’ records, with the exception of a few of the tracks on _Turn! Turn! Turn!_

'Oh, could you play that last song again?' Lily asked, rolling up Remus’ essay and setting it down between them. 'I couldn’t really focus on it while I was reading.'

Remus obliged, silencing the part of him that wanted to tell her that would damage the record. The slow, meandering electric guitar started up again, the soft crash of cymbals, the steady bass line. Then the woman’s voice came in, sweet and wistful, so similar to his mother’s. He practically had this song memorised, she played it so much last year. She only stopped after Roscoe died, deciding that a song titled 'Farewell, Farewell' may not be the most appropriate music choice. 

They didn’t speak for much of the song. When Remus looked over at Lily, her eyes were closed, fingers tapping the beat lightly against her leg. He glanced over at Sirius, whose chess piece had just smashed one of Gideon’s. He laughed triumphantly, throwing his head back. On the record, the woman crooned about running away and Sirius met his eyes with a smile. 

'That song is so beautiful, Remus.' Lily faced him with glassy eyes as the guitar faded out into the next track, an acapella introduction to a slow folk ballad. He smiled back at her, unsure of what the proper reaction was. She always seemed on the verge of tears since they’d started talking again. Sometimes he would ask her about it, sometimes she’d just start ranting about Marlene McKinnon, or Snape, or her sister, Petunia. 

She wiped at her eyes and looked up at the ceiling, taking a quick deep breath. She fidgeted with the end of yellow ribbon tying off her pigtails, stiffening at the sound of footsteps. The perils of their secluded meeting spot included semi-frequent interaction with Lily’s roommates. Most of them were actually quite pleasant, even occasionally saying hello to Lily. 

The only real problem was Marlene, who nearly had a temper like Sirius’. She would get into screaming matches with Lily, and had on several occasions in the past three months.

Not to mention in last week’s detention where she cornered Sirius. James carried him back to the dormitory shaking. He swore he would never cast another jelly-legs jinx in life. Not now that he knew what it felt like to have cast on you four times in a row. 

‘I will never walk again, Loony,’ he had whinged, sprawled out over his bed, ‘my whole life will be legless.’

‘How tragic,’ Remus muttered, flicking to the next page of their Defence book. Sirius threw a shoe at him. The textbook was much heavier, and knocked the wind out of Sirius when it landed square on his chest. Marlene McKinnon was a bit of a legend for that round of jinxes. He couldn’t hate her if he tried, not even for Lily’s sake. 

'Evans,' Marlene said coolly as she came down the stairs two steps at a time. She was perhaps five-feet tall at most and her dark ponytail bounced with each step. 

'Hello, Marlene.' 

'You left your Transfiguration notes on Isabel’s desk.' She thrust out a stack of papers covered in Lily’s neat writing. 

'She was borrowing them.'

Remus tried to catch Sirius’ or Peter’s eyes to convey some sort of plea for help. He wasn’t willing to get caught in another one of their fights, not after last week when Lily’s comment about a muggle poet had nearly started (another) duel. 

'Well, how was I s’posed to know that?' the other girl replied nearly incomprehensibly. She had a penchant for running all her words together, the way Peter did when he wasn’t trying not to. 

'You could’ve asked. Or better yet, you could’ve just left it alone because who I let borrow my notes doesn’t have anything to do with you.'

Remus tried to get Sirius’ attention again, already knowing where this was headed. Although perhaps at this point it would be better to get Gideon’s attention before it got out of hand. 

'For Godric’s sake, Evans, I was only tryin’ to give them back.' She dropped the stack of papers onto the floor in front of them and walked off to the other side of the room, where Mary and Julia were revising. 

'Ugh, can you believe her?' Lily huffed as soon as the other girl was out of earshot. Remus nodded, floundering for an appropriate response and knowing that wasn’t one. 'She’s always trying to start something.' Luckily, she wasn’t paying much attention to Remus and his lack of response anyways. Her focus was trained on the three girls across the room. 

'It is weird that she keeps coming over here,' he said softly to himself, nearly forgetting Lily was there. The music had stopped playing by now, with the needle scratching against the end of the record. Remus snatched it up, affixing it to his robes before it could damage the album. 

'Exactly! I don’t see why she just doesn’t leave me alone.' 

'Maybe she’s trying to be your friend?'

'Please, she _hates_ me.'

'Maybe she’s just bad at making friends?' 

'She seems to be doing just fine.’ Her gaze returned to her roommates. 

'Not being funny, you should try and talk to her about it, that’s all. You might have more in common than you think.'

'You sound like Gideon,' Lily sighed. Remus was pleased she was too distracted to see his blush.

*

**_Saturday, 25 March, 1972_ **

James’ birthday was an extravagant affair. For reasons that would evade Remus for years, the entirety of Gryffindor House threw a party for a First Year. Somehow, Gideon even convinced some of the older kids to help hoist James up on their shoulders and parade him around. It was as implausible as it was ridiculous. 

The prefect had said they were desperate for an excuse to throw a party, that Anthony Johnson had been stocking up on alcohol for weeks. But the real reason for the party, at the end of the day, was James Potter.

Remus hung near the back wall for the party, occasionally chatting with Lily but even she was wrapped up in a discussion with some Third Years. Sirius had tried to drag him over to the center of the action, but in the days leading up to the full moon, he didn’t have the energy. Besides, it wasn’t like James even noticed his low energy levels, he was so busy being adored. Peter stayed close to him, basking in it.

'Mind if I join you?' Dorcas Meadowes asked, smoothing her skirt as she slid back against the wall.

'Not at all. Dorcas, right?'

She nodded, twists of dark hair bouncing with the movement. 'I’d ask you too, but Remus Lupin isn’t really a name that slips the mind.'

'I suppose not,' he smiled, 'could be worse, though. At least I’m not Sirius Black.'

They both laughed and glanced over to where James, Sirius, and Peter were playing Exploding Snap with some quidditch players.

'So what are you doing hiding a corner?' Dorcas asked with a shy smile. 'Isn’t it your mate’s birthday?'

'I think he’s doing just fine without me. Besides, it’s too loud and the music’s too bad.'

'You’re not wrong there. I’ll be happy to never hear “Knock Three Times” again.’

‘Almost as bad as that summertime one.’

‘Oh, I like that one. I think it’s fun. My sister’s fiance does this version of it on the piano, it’s so funny. He does the bass two-oh, sorry, that was a silly thing to say,’ she added, eyes drifting down to her hands, where she was nervously picking at her cuticle. 

‘No, not at all! My dad hates “Bad Moon Rising'' except when my mam plays it.’

‘How could anyone hate that song? Marlene’s been trying to convince them to play her Creedence record all night,' she laughed, pointing to where Marlene McKinnon was engaged in a loud argument with a Seventh Year over the record she was playing. Mary MacDonald hovered behind her, red-faced with embarrassment. 

'My dad’s weird about music, mam’s even weirder I suppose. They tend not to like most of what’s on the radio.’

‘Oh, yeah, my sister--Lydia, she's in Hufflepuff so I doubt you've met but she’s like that,’ Dorcas said, ‘Can’t get through Top of the Pops without making some comment.’

They chatted idly for a few minutes, with Remus steering the conversation. He found that sometime last month Marlene heard Dorcas playing a Foundations record and hadn’t left her alone since.

‘I don’t mind, though,’ Dorcas said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, ‘the girls in my dorm mostly keep to themselves, so it’s been nice having someone to talk to.’

'Oi!' 

'It’s not even ten yet, Meadowes!' Mary and Marlene descended on the two of them, victorious as the introductory saxophone of ‘Satisfaction’ blared through the common room. 

'Come on, we’ve just the one song!' Marlene looked much older than twelve, with her dark hair tied up in a bun and wearing muggle clothing. Her bright blue dress complimented the rich brown of her skin. To her left, Mary wore a baggy yellow jumper that complimented her pale skin significantly less. They each grabbed Dorcas by an arm, pulling at her as they sang along. 

'I don’t-' Dorcas laughed breathlessly as she got up, '-I don’t think you _can_ dance to the Stones.'

'You can dance to anything if you try hard enough,' Marlene countered, turning to Mary with a grin and shouting ‘“I can’t get no-!’”

She improvised the saxophone riff, sending all three of them into a laughing fit. Dorcas waved at Remus with a smile as they dragged her off to the center of the common room, where a few of the older girls were dancing. 

Remus looked over at his friends, and, with a sigh, decided he better socialise as well. He envied how easily this sort of thing came to girls. Most of them were dancing now, pulling each other by the arms and jumping up and down. 

James, Peter, and Sirius were all crammed together on a sofa laughing at them. 

'Oi, budge up,' Remus said, sliding in between Peter and Sirius. 

'Have you decided you like us then?' Sirius said right in his ear. Remus winced at the volume. 

'If you’ve decided you’re done fawning over the quidditch team.' 

'Loony, I will _never_ be done fawning over the quidditch team.' James was glowing under the all night’s attention, his hair delightfully tousled and a dark rosy tint to his cheeks. 

'And it’s my birthday so I get to call you that,' he added at Remus’ frown.

'You’ve still got two more days, Potter,' Remus said dryly. They all knew the nickname would stick regardless of whose birthday it was and that was something he was going to have to live with. 

'Two more days and a hundred more birthdays after that,' James said with a grin, and Sirius stuck a finger into his dimple.

'You think you’ll live to a hundred and twelve?' Sirius said.

'Have you _seen_ Dumbledore? I’m going to live for bloody forever, Black.'

Remus didn’t know how long werewolves usually lived, but with Sirius’ arm thrown around him and Peter’s head on his shoulder, he hoped it was for a long time. The four of them fell asleep on the sofa that night in a pile of limbs glued together with drool. 

Years from now, the photo Gideon took of them in the morning would be just one of many Remus struggled to burn.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May ‘72, Part One: The legacy of Bellatrix Black.

**_Saturday, 6 May, 1972_ **

April came and went in a blur of rain and lectures. James and Sirius wanted to plan a prank for the end of term. Remus couldn’t think that far ahead and his gut still twisted when he thought about their last prank in December. March and April ushered in spring with a vengeance. He watched from the window while listening to the Fairport Convention with Sirius, helping Peter with Defence work, and chatting with Lily in the common room until late at night. Things had finally calmed down, it seemed. Which, in retrospect, Remus should have known was too good to be true. 

By the time he woke up one morning, the other three were long gone, including James, who normally slept in as late as he could. It was nice to wake up peacefully for once, without their bickering and tripping over things. It was refreshing to wake up and get dressed in the main room instead of having to rush off to where the others wouldn’t see. 

He skipped breakfast and made tea in the dorm, pleased with his self-sufficiency. The full moon may have been a week past, but his appetite was still recovering.

He curled up on the windowsill, put on the Fairport Convention record and caught up on the reading he’d missed for History of Magic. He hummed along softly and found his eyes drifting from the pages onto the grounds. 

Summer was approaching slowly, the days getting longer with brighter, more intense sunlight. If Remus didn’t pay attention, June would be here before he knew it. That was how he always remembered it. The seasons turned and changed quickly outside his bedroom window, the flowers in the garden rotating in and out, only stopping when winter hit. He missed most of spring at home, recovering from injuries. Spring was full of fantasies and delusions of grandeur in winter’s wake. He always fantasised about getting one of the old bicycles from the shed and pedalling off into fields, maybe down to the coast. He never did. The furthest he got was the garden, or a train ride to Swansea.

For now, spring was in full bloom across the campus. His eyes picked out the rare colour amid the green. Wild pansies and violets and cowslips covered the grounds. Beneath a large oak tree, Julia Laughlin was with three of the other girls making chains of wildflowers, laced through with chickweed. They planted them on each other’s heads. It was joyful and sweet and Remus was cautiously envious that girls got to express their friendship so plainly. They got to admire the season changing and the careless beauty of nature without taking the piss out of each other. He wondered what James and Sirius would say if they knew Remus could identify flowers by name. 

In his periphery, there was a flash of light and Remus craned his neck to see a group of students gathered in a circle at the base of the tower. Gathered in a circle around two small figures--one with long, black hair and another with a wild crown of curls. Sirius and James. Remus recognised their shadows instantly. 

There was a girl with long dark hair facing them, the tip of her wand flashing pink as James fell to the ground. Remus was on his feet in seconds, racing down the stairs and out of the portrait hole. Every inch of his body, still painfully sore from Wednesday’s moon, protested as he bounded down the next staircase. He wouldn't slow down until he pushed the large wooden doors open and clamored his way into the crowd of students excitedly whispering around Narcissa and Sirius. 

'Oh, I  _ know  _ your mother taught you better than that,' she growled, voice as sweet as ever. 

'And I  _ know  _ you know better than to bring up family like that,' Sirius’ solemn voice quipped back, followed by a spell Remus couldn’t quite hear. The older students in front of him were blocking the view. 

He dared push through to the front, apologizing profusely. He stood in front of an older Ravenclaw girl who laid a hand on his shoulder. She looked down at him with round, dark eyes and a stern expression.

'Don’t get too close, eh? These things tend to get dangerous. ‘Specially with their lot.'

Remus nodded. He looked over to where James sat against the wall of the tower, with Peter laying a hand against his forehead. He looked angry, swatting Peter’s hands away, slamming a fist against his motionless legs. 

'Like you know anything about family, blood traitor,' she spat. Remus heard her whisper something. She drew a half circle in the air. 

' _ Protego.  _ Say, Cissy,' he continued smoothly as they circled each other, twin silhouettes of sharp features, sloped noses, and long, black hair curling up at the ends, 'Speaking of family, when was the last time you heard from Andromeda? Because she wrote to me last week with an invite to the wedding. You got one too, right, Cissy? Going to be a bridesmaid? Like you planned?'

Narcissa’s face twisted in rage and her blue eyes hardened and nose wrinkling. It was unnerving how similar they looked, even with four years and six inches between them. She didn’t justify Sirius’ taunt with a response, instead hissing out a spell loud enough for Remus to hear.

' _ Pressuranis. _ ' She made a corkscrew motion with her wand and Sirius looked panicked. He raised his wand, beginning to sound out another shield charm. He was too slow. Remus watched in horror as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He crumpled to the ground instantly, completely lifeless. 

A stunned silence settled over the crowd and a dozen sets of eyes came to rest on Narcissa Black. Even the small group of Slytherins behind her fell silent, their expressions unreadable. Narcissa stared at the still body of her cousin, splayed out two feet in front of her. One of the girls behind her laid a hand on her shoulder. 

'Let’s go before that awful Prewett gets here. I don’t think I can see either of their faces without hexing at least one of them.' She spoke with a piercingly shrill upper-class accent. Her voice, however grating it was to Remus’ ears, didn’t seem to cut through Narcissa’s reverie. She took a slight step towards Sirius, the heel of her boot digging into the soft earth. Her brow furrowed as her hand rose to cover her mouth, but only briefly. Within seconds, her hand fell to her side, her steely demeanor returned and she let the other girl pull her back. The two of them darted off towards the lake, followed by the three other Slytherins. 

Remus broke free of the Ravenclaw’s grasp and rushed to his friend’s side. His heart was pounding as he shook Sirius’ shoulders. Was he even alive? Remus had never seen someone fall like that, as though all of the life had been sucked from them. He knew what fainting looked like, he’d lost consciousness enough times for that, but this was nothing like that. The way Sirius crumpled to the ground so effortlessly was burned into Remus’ memory. 

'Lupin, move!' 

There was another voice, gruff and commanding--Gideon. Remus jumped out of the way as he slid to his knees, pressing a hand against Sirius’ chest. 

The crowd remained, each wearing the same stunned but curious expression. Narcissa was nowhere to be found. James rushed to Gideon’s side. Peter hovered beside Remus, fidgeting nervously. 

'Em- what the hell? What are you  _ doing? _ ’

The Ravenclaw girl flinched, her short brown hair shaking into her eyes. 

‘It was-’ she sputtered, ‘You know I don’t-’

‘Nevermind! Go get Pomfrey! Now!' Gideon shouted, gruff and angry. The girl took off into the castle, sprinting at breakneck speed. 

'What happened?' he demanded, glancing around Sirius’ body. His eyes, which Remus normally thought were so kind, bored into the three of them with a terrifying intensity. 

'She ran into us and then Sirius just started saying shit and then I don’t know- she just-' James stammered, running a hand through his hair. His eyes were glassy, and he looked as though he was going to break down at any second. 

'Out of the way, students! Now!' Poppy’s voice cut through the chaos of it all and Gideon moved from Sirius’ side, pulling James back. He kicked and protested, wailing about how he needed to be there. 

Suddenly, there was a loud  _ crack _ and the spot where Poppy knelt next to Sirius was empty. Sirius’ body left an impression on the grass, flattening the wildflowers beneath him. 

'Potter, please-' The prefect struggled to keep his arms around James’ wriggling body. 'James!' 

The crowd dispersed now, either out of fear of Madam Pomfrey or discomfort with James’ ugly sobbing. He was crying properly now. Fat teardrops dripped down his cheeks and snot dribbled down his chin. His mouth twisted as he shouted obscenities at Gideon. Remus couldn’t help but think of the cruel irony that those deep dimples came with such sorrow as they did with joy. 

*

Sirius had to spend the night in the hospital wing. When questioned by McGonagall, Narcissa confessed that it was a curse her older sister had invented. Its intent was to cause a powerful, mind-splitting headache. In her defense, she said it had been ages since it made one of them pass out, which made Remus’ skin crawl. She didn’t know the counter-curse, said there probably wasn’t one and that she wasn’t the one who came up with it. Slytherin lost a hundred points and she was stripped of her prefect badge and was no longer eligible for head girl next year. 

Poppy didn’t want anyone in to see Sirius, but took one look at James and agreed to let him spend the night at Sirius’ bedside, so long as he helped her prepare her next batch of Pepper-Up potions. Gideon was also permitted to watch over the First Year from a chair adjacent to James.

Gryffindor House was eerily silent for the rest of the day. All of the usual noise and movement of the common room was absent, with most of the students already resigned to their dormitories or reading silently by the fireplace. 

The room felt horribly empty with just Remus and Peter. They both relied on James’ and Sirius’ personalities taking up enough space for all four of them. Remus put on The Byrds album and let it play softly in the background. He knew Peter liked it best. Something was needed to fill the silence of James’ and Sirius’ absence. 

He tried to focus on his schoolwork, on memorizing the ingredients in a Cure for Boils potion and the consequences of brewing it incorrectly, but all he could think about was Sirius. He kept seeing his friend’s body going completely still and falling to the ground over and over again. 

'Remus?' Peter’s small voice broke through the memory. 'Do you think we could talk?'

'Yeah, er-give me a minute.' He turned off the music, making sure he was there to catch the record when the spell terminated. Once again, a static silence fell over the room. Peter sat on the edge of his bed, concerned and looking at Remus. He wrung out his hands nervously. 

'I’m sure he’s fine, Pete. Pomfrey’s the best healer in the country,' Remus assured him, falling victim to his helpless, frightened energy.

'That’s not it…' His eyes darted across the room, to the window, to Remus, to the door and back to Remus. 'I-I-er-'

'Take your time.' Remus tried not to give into his frustration, to treat him the way the other two did. 

'Well, it’s just I need to ask-' He stopped suddenly, taking a deep breath. 

At the same time, Remus hated being on the edge like this, with his mind already trying to fill in the gaps of his sentence. It  _ was  _ frustrating, and he was certain that if he wasn’t so aware of his own shortcomings, Remus would be just as inclined to snap at Peter as James and Sirius were. 

'Remus, are you a werewolf?'

Peter’s voice was barely above whisper, and yet Remus flinched as though he’d screamed. This was already a million times worse than when James cornered him in the hospital wing. At least then, there was Poppy as a failsafe, there was a history between their families. There was common ground, there was a semblance of trust. But Remus hardly knew Peter, hardly even  _ liked  _ Peter.

And yet, here Peter was, staring with massive brown eyes, cowering in fear. Looking like he was scared of him, his look much more telling than on the train all those months ago, when he was only afraid of being on his own for the first time. This was a different sort of fear altogether. This was deeper,  _ much  _ deeper--this was primal. 

'Peter, I…' Was there any point in denying it? Could he lie his way out of this one, too? Would a simple two letter word subdue the terror in his eyes? Would it stop his heart from racing? His adrenaline from pumping? 'I’m not dangerous,' he whispered at last, telling a different lie, but a lie nonetheless. 

They stared at each other for an indiscernible amount of time. In a way, they were strangers. They always had been. Strangers in close proximity, each harboring their own suspicions about the other’s lives, the reason they hid parts of themselves, buried under false accents or fabricated illnesses. 

'Have you-' Peter swallowed. 'Have you ever bit someone?'

'God, never,' Remus swore. 'I’d sooner die.'

'Does it-how much does it hurt?' He spoke a little louder and a little firmer than before, reassured by Remus’ answers. 

'It’s hard to say…' It was impossible to quantify something as familiar as that. There was no way to view the transformation through a critical lens anymore. It just happened and he knew what to expect. 'It’s like… the worst pain I’ve ever felt but it happens all the time.'

'I don’t know if that makes sense….' He ran a hand through his hair. 'No, I think I get it.' Peter’s expression steeled with another deep breath. He crossed the room and took a seat at Remus’ side. 

'I’m sorry,' He was still slightly shaking. 

'I’m the one who’s sorry, Pete. I get it if you don’t feel safe with me here anymore…' Remus’ breath hitched in his throat, but he had to be brave. He was a Gryffindor, after all. 'I can talk to Dumbledore about going back home.'

'What?' Peter turned to face him. 'Why would you do that?'

'To protect you!'

'Don’t do that! Don’t go!' He was frantic now. 'You can’t leave me with them!'

'No, no I don’t  _ want  _ to go. I’d only go if  _ you  _ wanted me to. Or I suppose, if Sirius finds out and wants me to.'

'He wouldn’t.' Peter’s voice was certain. Remus wished he could share his naivete. 

'He might. You know what his family’s like.'

'He’s different, though, isn’t he? He’s just as bloody mean and posh but he’s still different, right?' 

'Maybe. You still can’t tell him, though. Can’t trust anyone with this.' He sounded like his father.

'What about James?' Peter asked hopefully. His sycophantic adoration manifested in the way he said his name. 

'He already knows.'

'Sirius won’t like that.' Peter already seemed worried about Sirius’ reaction, like it was inevitable. Remus found himself feeling frustrated, yet again, biting back the urge to snap at his friend. 

'He won’t find out.'

They spent the rest of the night talking, which was rare for them. Peter asked rapidfire questions about the transformations, the scars, the hospital visits. Remus answers all of them in half-truths, in turn asking how Peter found out. 

'I’m not a complete idiot,' he muttered. 'We’re in Astronomy class half the week, for Godric’s sake. You get ill after every full moon. In the days leading up to it, you’re mean and you look awful. You’re always injured after it, and you always miss class at least two days after.'

Remus suddenly felt quite embarrassed. He hadn’t realised it was so obvious, or that other people looked at him and saw the sickly boy he never wanted to be. He found himself feeling terrified that he was so easy to figure out. How many other students had figured it out? How many more were going to? And what would they do when they did? 

'So…' Peter cleared his throat. The tension hung thick around them. 'Do you have any er-extra powers then?'

'Extra powers?'

'Yeah, like super strength or speed or something. Like the werewolves in my mum’s books.'

Remus cringed, knowing exactly the sorts of books Peter meant.

'Oh yeah, I definitely have super strength,' he said wryly. Peter had just finished describing all the ways in which he looked like death incarnate. 

Silence settled. Remus contemplated Peter's question. He certainly didn't have super strength or speed. But his mother did always say he had impeccable hearing, and it rather made sense. He often heard things he realistically shouldn't be able to, like his parents hushed arguments James and Sirius’ whispering to one another.

'I suppose I've got better hearing than most...and Pomfrey says I heal much faster than anyone she’s treated before.'

'Reckon a higher pain tolerance, too.' Peter seemed calmer now than he was before, although he still wouldn’t quite meet Remus eyes. 'I broke my ankle when I was seven and-'

They were interrupted by a soft knocking at the door. 

' _ Alohomora.'  _ Remus said, waving his wand in its direction, assuming it was probably a prefect. Since they were knocking, it has to be a girl. Part of him hoped it was Lily, but he knew it wasn't. She wouldn’t dare risk a conversation with James or Sirius, probably even Peter if she could help it. 

'Hiya, lads.' Saima poked her head through the door, 'Can I come in?'

'Sure,' Remus responded, as Peter was already far too distracted by the mere presence of a girl in their room. Saima eyed the room distastefully, looking at the floor scattered with things-mostly his and James’-with a wrinkled nose. She eventually sat down on the chair by the window where the two boys sat. 

'So, I’m sure Gid already told you everything, but I wanted to check in and see how you two are feeling. I know seeing a duel can be really scary, especially if you didn’t grow up watching them.' She looked at them with concern, dark eyes gleaming in the flickering candlelight. 

'We’re alright.' Remus was picking at his cuticles wildly, terrified she heard their previous conversation through the door. 'Worried about Sirius, that’s all.'

'That’s so sweet. He’ll be fine. Pomfrey’s the best healer in the country, after all,' she reassured them, smiling kindly at them. Remus noticed for the first time, since he hadn’t interacted with her too much, that there was something uniquely radiant about her. She had that same compassion about her as Gideon. 

'Wish my girls liked each other as much as you lot do.' She sighed. 'I swear I’m this close to swapping beds with one of them.'

Remus reckoned Lily would love that. She got along better with the older students. 

'I know you guys aren’t too familiar with the older prefects, but all of us are here whenever you need us. Even Jane, although she’s been a right bitch since she lost head girl to Lucy Podmore. But from one muggleborn to another, don’t hesitate to tell us if anything, and I do mean anything, happens. We have to protect each other, especially with that cult on the rise.'

Neither Remus nor Peter were muggleborn, a fact the latter opened his mouth to convey, but Remus cut him short. It didn’t matter, and for all they knew about the wizarding world, they might as well be muggleborns. 

'Actually--do you think you could tell us about that? James and Sirius are always vague when we ask…' He wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity to learn about those things that were awkward to ask Sirius about. And maybe, it was also a nice distraction from the leftover panic, the choir of 'he knows, he knows' screaming in Remus’ head. 

'Yeah, but there are some things you might be too young to hear just yet.' Her expression darkened as she leaned in closer to them. 

She went on to tell them about the Death Eaters--a group of pureblood supremacists led by a dark wizard whose name Saima wouldn’t even say, who the Ministry was officially at war with. 

'We don’t know a lot about them, other than the fact that they’re dangerous and disruptive. So much so that even a lot of the pureblood families have spoken out against them, even if they support their agenda.'

She ended the discussion by telling them to be careful, and protect each other.

'It wouldn’t hurt to start practising defensive spells. There’s this muggleborn bloke in the Ministry, he’s trying to pass a vote that’ll let students practise magic outside of Hogwarts. Gideon doesn’t think it’ll pass but at the very least it’s got people talking about the disparity between the students with magic parents and us without.’

She repeatedly told them to go to her, Gideon, or any of the other Gryffindor prefects if they needed anything. 

‘Alice Hansen in Hufflepuff and I are trying to start a duelling club next term but McGonagall’s not too keen on the idea but we might do it anyway if we can. We’ve got a solid list of people between our Houses, plus Fabian can probably get some Ravenclaws to join.’

At a sharp contrast from Peter, Remus liked the idea of a duelling club. He hardly knew any of the older students in Gryffindor, let alone in other Houses, but he was thrilled at the prospect of learning advanced defence spells. The conversation wound down after that, with Peter and Remus retiring to their beds after she left. 

He didn’t know how long it took Peter to fall asleep. The room was dead silent for hours as Remus read by the light of his wand. The events of the day came rushing back to him: Sirius’ fall, the flash of horror on Narcissa’s face. James’ ugly sobs, the rawness of his voice. It was the first time Remus had seen him like that--so overcome with a genuine emotion that wasn’t joy. It was terrifying and foreign and forced Remus to wonder if there was anything James wouldn’t do for Sirius, after less than a year of knowing him. How do earn that kind of loyalty? How do you give it so willingly?

*

**_Sunday, 7 May, 1972_ **

'Starting to see why you like it here so much, Loony.' Sirius said with a lopsided grin. 'The service can’t be beat.'

He laid on the hospital bed with his black hair splayed out on the stark white pillow like a princess. He looked a little tired, but otherwise the only off thing about him was the ghostly sheen of his skin. He looked much paler than normal, as if that were even possible. 

'I swear to Merlin, Black, I’ll kill you one of these days.' Gideon looked exhausted, with dark craters beneath his eyes and orange hair sticking out in every direction. He smiled fondly at Sirius, despite his threats. 

'Eh, I keep things interesting, don’t I?'

'You keep picking fights you can’t win, if that’s what you mean.'

'For the record, I can out-duel Narcissa any day. Just because she played dirty doesn’t mean she’s any better than me.' Sirius spoke proudly, at a sharp contrast from the helpless, sickly boy on the hospital bed. 

'Oh, shut up, Black. Do you have to be so obnoxious all the time?'

'Yes, Gideon, I do.'

'You’re going to-'

'Gentlemen!' Poppy snapped, sliding back the curtain from the bed adjacent to Sirius, where James lay, fast asleep. 'Do not make me change my visitor policies.'

Gideon’s entire face turned bright red, and Sirius pointed at him, laughing. 

'Hello, Remus, dear. How are you?' she added kindly, smiling at Remus and completely ignoring Peter at his side. 

'Feeling well, Poppy. Nevermind that Peter and I were up all night worrying for apparently no reason.' He gestured to Sirius, who stuck his tongue out in response.

'I wouldn’t say for  _ no  _ reason. It was a rather complicated curse that took the combined efforts of myself and Professor McGonagall to sort out,' she tutted, turning around to lay a hand on Sirius’ forehead. He swatted her hand away with a sour face. 

'Yeah, there’s no counter-curse for that one, courtesy of Bellatrix,' Sirius said. Remus remembered the sheer look of panic on his face before the curse took hold. 

'Don’t even get me started on that c-'

'Mr Prewett!' Poppy interjected, not quite loud enough to wake James. 'Aren’t you supposed to be making rounds with Miss Alvi right about now?'

Gideon’s blush returned in full force in a rather stunning shade of red. He mumbled something to the Matron before walking briskly out of the room. 

'Take it easy, Black,' he added as he shut the door. 

'He fancies her,' Sirius explained, prompting Poppy to shake her head as she crossed the room to her potions bench. 

'Really?' Peter squeaked, opening his mouth for the first time since they arrived. 

'Yeah, he’s too much of a coward to ask her out, though. Some Gryffindor he is.' 

'You lot are exhausting.' Poppy turned to face them, mortar and pestle in her hand. 'No other House is nearly so quick to discredit its members like that.'

Sirius tried to explain the joke, but Poppy had none of it. Fortunately, James slept through the entire conversation. He’d have strong words for anyone who insulted Gryffindor House in the slightest. 

He looked peaceful in his sleep. Like Sirius, his dark hair stood out against the white pillows and sheets. Only, without Sirius' ghostly pallor, he didn’t look ill at all. He looked childlike. He was always on the move, fidgeting with things, or talking (often all three at once), it was bizarre to see him so still. Even stranger to see him so tranquil after the last time Remus had seen him--wracked with sobs and kicking against Gideon in his fit to get to Sirius. 

At some point, the conversation had shifted to the Gryffindor First Year girls and their latest screaming match. Peter excitedly told Sirius what Saima said last night, with the latter responding by insulting Lily. Remus ignored this, even when Sirius' guilty eyes glanced up at him. He would let it be for now. Sirius could probably do with a break from conflict. 

*

**_Monday, 8 May, 1972_ **

The next morning at breakfast, the duel was all anyone talked about. Students of every House spun around in their seats to watch Sirius as the four of them sat down. There seemed to be a hundred voices whispering, and a hundred sets of eyes split between the Black heir and the Slytherin’s nearly empty hourglass of points.

Sirius’ expression was dark, with stony grey eyes and a hard edge to the line of mouth. He kept his head high, glaring at anyone who dared look in his direction. For the most part, it worked, other than the mass of Slytherins who met his glower with one just as severe. Remus was reminded of the first day and how intimidating Sirius had looked under the Sorting Hat. 

'Excuse me, students.' McGonagall’s voice cut through the whispers. They all looked up to the staff table, where the Head of Gryffindor House stood, arms folded and expression rigid. 'Your Headmaster would like to speak with you.'

She sat down, gesturing for Dumbledore to take her place. The old man stood slowly from his seat at the center of the long table at the front of the hall. He smoothed out the front of his robes as he did so, adjusting his glasses and straightening his posture. The entire hall seemed to hold its breath as they waited.

'Thank you, Minerva.' Dumbledore’s voice echoed across the room, deep and authoritative. Any lingering activity and whispering stopped as soon as he opened his mouth. Even James stopped talking to pay attention. 'I would like to take this opportunity to remind you all of the impending exams. Our younger students will be taking their end of term exams this June, our Fifth Years taking O.W.L.s and Seventh Years taking their NEWTs, as well as preparing for Apparition training and certifications at the end of this month. While this may seem far away, do remember that time has a way of catching up to all of us.' There was a twinkle in the Headmaster’s eyes that could be seen from across the hall. He spoke with a lilt as though he were talking about something much deeper than exams. 'I would also like to remind our students that they are prohibited from using non-Ministry approved spells, and that the use of such magic has dire consequences. Thank you students, that is all.'

Gradually, the Great Hall was filled with chattering students and the glances in Sirius’ direction lowered in frequency with the exception of Narcissa, whose gaze hadn’t left her cousin once, even during Dumbledore’s address. Her blue eyes narrowed slightly as Sirius’ scowl deepened. They seemed to be engaged in some type of conversation based entirely on varying depths of dirty looks. Part of Remus wondered if they really were telepathic, like James had accused during their first week. 

'The next prank needs to be better than everything we’ve done so far,' Sirius said eventually, turning to look at the three of them. 'No more half-plans, no more improvising. She needs to go  _ down _ .'

James perked right up at this, breaking into a massive, delightfully mischievous grin. It was a hilarious contrast from Sirius’ scowl. Even Peter nodded in agreement, leaving Remus at a crossroads. There were three sets of eyes on him, waiting for some sort of answer. James’ eyes were expectant, Peter’s pleading, and Sirius’ accusing.  _ What kind of Gryffindor does that make you?  _ he asked wordlessly. It made Remus squirm.

It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to join in. In fact, he hated every second of being left out of the last prank, as inconsequential as it ended up being. He liked being the mastermind, liked the thrill of breaking the rules for once in his life. He loved that feeling of camaraderie, in spite of James and Sirius’ dramatics. He loved feeling like he was a part of something bigger than himself, like they were all in something together. 

The only caveat was how guilty he felt when only one of them got caught. How guilty he felt when he got Sirius in trouble because of his injuries. But then, he didn’t have any broken bones at the moment. And maybe he could convince them to plan it at a time far from the next full moon. Maybe, with both James and Peter on his side, it would be better.

'Alright fine.  _ Fine.  _ But just this once.' 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May '71, Part Two: A death, a failed prank, and a sneezing fit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of suicide

**_Friday, 19 May, 1972_ **

None of them could say exactly how Mary MacDonald ended up in their note-passing ring. What they did know was that one day a note that should have been Peter’s was returned with sprawling cursive, saying far funnier things than Peter ever did:

_You know you won’t be able to get away with that once I’m prefect._

She gently floated the note to James, who replied:

 _As if they’d make_ **_you_ ** _prefect. It’ll be someone from the sane dorms: probably Meadowes or Jenkins. Herring from our lot, maybe Jordan._

Then Sirius: _No way. It’s going to be Evans and Loony for sure._

Then it was Remus’ turn: _I’d make a horrible prefect. And so would Lily. I’m with James. Herring and Dorcas._

Peter: _You’ll give us the password to the prefects’ Bathroom, won’t you Loony?_

Back to Mary: _Remus and I will take fifty points every time one of you asks._

James and Sirius decided to set a wager. Remus promised Peter that they will have completely forgotten about it by the time Fifth Year rolled around. Mary kept asking Remus if they’d want to do patrols together or split up to cover more ground. He was never sure if she was joking, if she was smiling or smirking. It was slightly unnerving.

He was starting to write back that she’d go mad with power in the first week when a series of sharp knocks cut through the drone of Binns’ lecture. Dozens of heads shot up, whirling in the direction of the sound. No one dared interrupt class unless it was an emergency. 

The door creaked open slowly to reveal a Hufflepuff boy with a wavy mop of dark hair and brown skin. His eyes were wide and uncertain, his mouth a thin line as he scanned the rows of students.

‘Sorry to interrupt, Professor...it’s urgent. May I...I need to speak with my sister for a moment if that’s alright,’ the thick Scottish accent inquired. Every single head whirled around to watch Marlene McKinnon. The professor waved a hand, grumbling as he continued the lecture. 

‘Malcolm?’ Marlene asked, immediately getting up from her seat. The entire class was now watching as she tripped over her chair and tipped over her inkwell. The liquid flowed onto the desk, unfurling across the wood and dripping over the sides like blue blood. 

Mary looked up sharply and gnawed on her lower lip. It looked for a moment as if she were about to follow Marlene out the door. Two rows in front of her, Lily’s quill stilled mid-sentence. Remus hardly noticed James moving to get up until Sirius set a hand on his shoulder. The professor continued on, ignoring Marlene’s clamour and the other students’ prying. 

‘I’m sorry- I just-er, _Scourgify,_ I have to go. Do you mind moving-thank you,’ she sputtered, running towards the door. 

The door shut and there was an audible gasp on the other side. Through the foggy glass window, Remus and twenty other students watched the older boy pull Marlene into his arms and stroke her hair. 

##  *****

_From the Daily Prophet, dated 20 May, 1972_

**_Jeffrey McKinnon’s daughter commits suicide_ **

_By Carlotta Merons_

_Elise McKinnon, 26, was found dead in her Edinburgh flat on the morning of 19th May, 1972. Despite traces of unconventional spells detected on the body, aurors have ruled the cause of death to be suicide, by McKinnon’s own wand._

_Like her father, McKinnon was an inventor and an entrepreneur. Before her death, she had multiple patents pending on various wand safety charms. The Ministry’s patent office has declined to speak on both McKinnon’s death and the fate of her inventions._

_The McKinnon family has declined to speak on the matter, requesting that they be allowed peace in this time of grief._

*

**_Saturday, 20 May, 1972_ **

‘We weren’t too close,’ Marlene said between sniffles, ‘she was so much older, only came ‘round the holidays. She wasn’t there this year, though, remember James? Mrs Prewett sent Jeff home with a plate for her.’

James nodded, ‘Malcolm spent the summer with her, yeah?’

‘No...no that fell through. She was...well, I’m sure your mam’s said how she suffered with her nerves. It’s not a terrible shock, but I just- I don’t know.’

‘My godfather died over the summer,’ James said softly, resting a hand on Marlene’s shoulder, ‘Remus’ grandad, too.’

‘It was the same person and I didn’t know him very well,’ Remus clarified, shifting uncomfortably on his bed.

He was the one who answered the door when Marlene knocked, assuming it was Lily or one of the prefects. He hadn’t expected to find Marlene McKinnon in a fit of tears, asking if James was there and if she could talk to him for a minute. 

‘I think three of my cousins died over the winter,’ Sirius offered from Peter’s side, where they were currently attempting to transfigure a chocolate frog card into an absence exemption letter. 

‘Yeah well everyone’s your cousin so I’m not very surprised,’ she said darkly, looking up at them through long, wet lashes. 

Her hair was out of its usual ponytail, falling over her back in long waves. The skin around her eyes was irritated, her nose a little red. She was wearing Dorcas’ yellow jumper and the hem nearly came down to her knees. 

‘That is fair. I think _we’re_ cousins somewhere, right?’ Sirius responded far too cheerfully. ‘Your great-aunt Hilda, I think, married my great-great grandfather Anta-’

 _‘Sirius_ ,’ James hissed. He shot a stern glare before turning back to Marlene, rubbing circles on her back. 

‘It’s alright,’ Marlene said, wiping at her face with the cuffs of her jumper, ‘it was kind of funny. I could use funny. Mary’s been very...er-Catholic about the whole thing and Dorcas...I don’t know....’

‘So you came to Potter?’ said Sirius dubiously, tilting his head to one side. 

‘’S not like I was gonna to talk to Evans, or Merlin forbid, Gideon,’

‘He was asking about you earlier,’ Peter added quietly. 

‘He wants me to talk about my feelings with Saima or some shite. And I just, I don’t know...Malcolm’s takin’ it so hard. Won’t see me ‘til I write our aunt and I don’t want to, you know? I don’t know what to say.’

‘Again, you came to _James_?’ Sirius echoed.

‘Don’t doubt me, Black,’ James said, hopping up from the bed and brushing off his trousers, ‘if there’s one thing I can do it is be a distraction.’

‘Too right,’ Remus muttered.

‘That is enough out of you, Loony. Are you going to help plan the prank or not?’

‘Who said anything about a prank?’

‘Remus, please. There is a _lady crying_ in our dormitory. There is only one thing to remedy this and that is a spectacular prank.’

‘Can’t I plan it?’ Marlene asked, sniffling.

‘It’s going to be a group effort,’ James assured her, ‘also if Remus isn’t planning he’s very judgemental.’

‘And rude,’ Peter added.

‘And self-righteous,’ Sirius finished.

‘If I recall, your last “prank” was just releasing chocolate frogs into the Great Hall? What planning could you have possibly done?’ 

‘We had to buy the chocolate frogs,’ James said. 

‘And multiply them,’ Peter added.

‘And release them.’ Sirius finished.

‘So, Remus,’ said Marlene briskly, ‘what did you have in mind?’

*

From Marlene’s initial suggestion of “cats,” the five of them created a three step plan to chaos. Step one was simple enough: Sirius and Peter would nick all the catnip they could find in the greenhouse. Step two: in the half hour it took to obtain the catnip, Remus would find and master a scent enhancement charm. Step three: Marlene and James would find the ideal location to lure about two hundred cats. Naturally, all of these steps would occur simultaneously.

Exactly five things went wrong.

At the greenhouses, Sirius and Peter were ambushed by Professor Sprout and McGonagall. Apparently, greenhouse number three was where they grew tea leaves together and every third Saturday was harvest day. It took them two hours and three extremely bitter cups of black tea to acquire the catnip. They were only released when McGonagall was summoned by Professor Slughorn for a meeting involving an inter-House altercation.

In the library, Remus found seven different spells all claiming to enhance scent. Two of them specified their milder effects on animals, which led to a panicked meditation on whether or not the rest of them would even work on cats. One hour and three books on feline anatomy later, Remus asked a Ravenclaw prefect, who then spent the next forty minutes pondering the issue. Two hours, three Ravenclaws, and one heated debate later, Remus had the spell.

James and Marlene ran into Snape. After three rounds of jinxes and a blatant misuse of the cleaning charm, they ended up in Slughorn’s office with a very annoyed McGonagall. Three weeks of detention for James, a trip to the hospital wing for Snape and seventeen points from both Houses.

The fourth thing was Marlene spending the following hour in McGonagall’s office, discussing life and grief and other important things. 

The fifth thing was that they were all so exhausted by the end of the day, a prank no longer seemed viable. Marlene said it was fine, she had fun running around the castle with James and that hexing Snape really was an excellent stress-reliever.

‘What are we going to do with all of this?’ Peter asked, pulling fistfuls of catnip out of his pocket. 

‘We could always save them for tomorrow, do the prank later,’ James suggested. 

‘Or, and just hear me out, we could-’ Sirius began. If Marlene hadn’t interrupted him, Remus almost definitely would have. Nothing Sirius said beginning with “hear me out” would end well. 

‘Actually, I think I’ll take it off your hands.’ Marlene grabbed the herbs and stuck them beneath her jumper. 

‘What are you going to do with it?’

‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure something out.’

*

**_Sunday, 21 May, 1972_ **

‘Alright, Evans?’ James asked with a cheeky grin. He leaned across the table for a biscuit that Remus knew he wouldn’t eat. It was just to get a better look Lily. 

Her entire body was splotchy and scarlet, covered in little white bumps that she couldn’t stop scratching. Tears wouldn’t stop pouring from her equally red and puffy eyes. Her nose was a raw, violent shade of red. 

‘Sod-’ she sneezed into her arm, auburn hair falling out of her bun and into her face from the sheer force of it, ‘- _off_ , Potter.’

She blew a strand of hair from her face, and grimaced at Remus’ sympathetic smile. He felt awful. It wasn’t his fault, but it was. He should have remembered that Marlene hated Lily but loved cats. Lily was aggressive with Marlene and aggressively _allergic_ to cats. 

Marlene sat at the other end of the table with Julia, Mary, and Dorcas. Mary was reading, eyes occasionally drifting off the page and to Lily whenever she sneezed with particular fervor. Dorcas gnawed at her lower lip, unable to look away. Marlene was something between triumphant and disappointed. Maybe she had hoped ruining Lily’s day would’ve made her feel better. It didn’t. Maybe she still hadn’t written to her aunt and her brother was still hiding in the Hufflepuff common room. 

‘What?’ James pressed with a venomous cheerfulness, ‘Don’t tell me Snivellus can’t find a potion Dark enough to cure a bit of hay fever?’

‘Honestly,’ Sirius drawled, with less cheer and more venom, ‘I thought he’d’ve bled the entire forest after the first sniffle.’

Remus hunched over his bowl of porridge to find his appetite completely gone. He tried to force the thought from his mind but it was no use. 

Across the hall, Snape was sitting with Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa, poised over a thick, black leather-bound book. Every so often his face would shoot up, wide eyes flicking over to Lily, expression softening just for a moment. Remus wondered if he knew whose fault it was, if he was planning something. 

He probably knew what potions called for werewolf blood. Or fur, or teeth, God knows what else. McGonagall’s words echoed in Remus’ head, louder than everything around him. Peter was asking him something about homework, maybe, or James was telling him to finish his porridge but it didn’t register.

He looked at his hands. There were little scars, faint, nearly invisible, ridges of pale skin. And not all of them had dark histories. Not all of them were painful. The small, diagonal indentation on the pad of his left thumb was from a muggle stapler, when he was helping his mother with job applications. The three white bumps at the base of his right ring finger were from falling off a bicycle, a year before he was bitten. 

It didn’t matter. They all healed the same way, bled the same blood.

Then there was a hand on his hand on his shoulder and James’ voice in his ear.

‘Remus? You still with us?’

He blinked, shook his head and forced a smile. 

‘Yeah,’ he swallowed, tearing his eyes from Snape, ‘yeah, what’s happened?’

‘Merlin,’ Sirius laughed, ‘they don’t call you loopy Lupin for nothing, do they?’

Remus wanted to say that he was one of three people, not counting Peeves (who wasn’t really a person), who called him that regularly.

‘You totally missed it,’ Sirius continued, wrapping an arm around Remus’ shoulder and turning his head towards Lily. Her face was even redder, the bottom half of it concealed beneath her t-shirt.

‘She sneezed eight times in a row. We thought her brain was going to pop out of her nose.’

‘Sirius, that’s disgusting.’ Remus crinkled his nose and attempted to free himself from the other boy’s grasp. Sirius only loosened his grip slightly, his hand shifting to the back of Remus’ head to mess up the hair there. 

‘It’s brilliant is what it is,’ he grinned wide, flashing a row of neat, white teeth. ‘Besides, you’re _supposed_ to laugh at your friends, that’s just part of it.’


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 29 May ‘71 and ‘72: Two memories.

**_Saturday, 29 May, 1971_ **

It was an early summer morning. The clouds hovered in the sky, unsure if they were to bring rain. The owl pecked at the window, unsure if the news it brought was good or bad. 

Remus jumped at the sound. They got owls occasionally, but their appearances grew less and less frequent the longer the Lupins spent in Wales. Owl days were some of the more exciting ones. They were the days when his father would be pulled down some hole of reminiscence and Remus could wheedle stories out of him. The kinds of stories Lyall kept guarded and locked up in boxes in his study, about magic and Hogwarts and all the time before. The time before Remus was bitten and the time before his father closed himself off from the wizarding world. 

'Owl!' he shouted quietly, rushing to intercept it before his father could. The bird shook its head violently, flapping its wings as Remus unlatched the window and reached out a hand.

'Shhhh, it’s alright. No, I just want the letter,' he soothed with calm, even tones. His father said it was only natural that the owls and the neighbors’ hens were so skittish with him. He said they were reacting the same as they did with dogs. Unlike humans, animals recognised him for what he was on instinct. Lyall hadn’t phrased it like a bad thing, but Remus loathed the way he had to coax the envelope from the bird’s beak. 

He ran a finger along the rough edges of the parchment, relishing the feeling of the wax seal coming loose under his nail. The letter was written in blue ink. Remus used to find it so romantic how wizards wrote with quills. He used to find many things about wizards romantic, back when he felt like there was an impenetrable wall between him and them. 

As he read on, Remus was paralysed. 

_ Lyall,  _

_ I am so sorry.  _

_ Your father passed this morning. The healers said there was nothing more they could do.  _

_ I know I am the last person you want to hear from right now. But I need you to know that in his final moments, your father was happy and well-cared for. Effie, James, and I visited him everyday until the end. He did not spend a single minute of it alone. _

_ I know you are the sort to dwell on past mistakes, but no one is responsible for the way your father turned out. I can’t say if he felt remorse, but I do know that up until his last breath, he spoke of only you. He made sure all of the healers knew how accomplished his son was, what a good man he was.  _

_ I hope to see you at the service once Effie and I get it sorted. I understand if you are unable to make it, but I also know you are the sort to crumble under loose ends. Please, do not hesitate to reach out to us. I know your father made it difficult to keep in touch, but you are as much a Potter as you would like to be, even now. You will always have a home with us.  _

_ Your friend, always, _

_ Fleamont  _

'Did you say there was an owl?' Lyall appeared in the kitchen and Remus looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. 

'Remus? It’s not-?' He rushed to the window and took the parchment from Remus’ limp hand. 

He read it slowly, hooded eyes dragging across the parchment, with a hand pressed over his mouth, like he was afraid of the things he was going to say. Remus watched as his father balled up the letter in one hand, slamming the other against the counter with a deafening sound. Remus flinched, watching helplessly as his father sunk to the floor. 

'Dad?'

His mother was working in Swansea, sewing up strangers’ skin and administering life-saving medication. She believed in cycles, Remus knew. Cycles of beginnings and ends, growth and decay, life and death. Perhaps it was a life she saved that disrupted that delicate balance, and sent her father-in-law over the edge. 

Lyall didn’t make a sound, even as he pulled himself up from the floor, trembling the whole way to the sitting room. He ignored Remus’ continued line of questions, the ever growing notes of panic in his small voice. His gnarled fingers shook violently as he slid a record out of its sleeve, misaligning the needle in the groove a few times before getting it to the song he wanted to play. Normally he would let the album play through, terrified of damaging the vinyl. But something had broken inside of him, something Remus couldn’t see. Barely eleven years old, Remus only saw the words ‘death’ and drew a line to sadness. He couldn’t understand the layers of it all--the rage, the regret, the sickening relief.

Comfort was a strange thing in the Lupin household, there was all at once an abundance and a void of it. Remus knew how to deal with physical pain, he knew how his mother comforted him after the full moon: blankets and embraces, words of assurance. He was at a loss with what to do here. He curled up next to his father on the sofa and wrapped his tiny arms around him. There were no words to ease this sort of pain. 

A melancholic acoustic guitar rattled the house and Joni Mitchell’s nostalgic voice rose above it. The words didn’t necessarily ease the pain, but they saw it, named it, and offered a kind of solace Remus wouldn’t understand for years. 

_ Yesterday a child came out to wander _

_ Caught a dragonfly inside a jar _

_ Fearful when the sky was full of thunder _

_ And tearful at the falling of a star _

Lyall didn’t begin to cry in earnest until the swell of the song’s chorus. Shock subsided to honest grief and he held onto Remus like the only thing he had left. His stiff fingers dug into Remus’ back, painfully pressing against old scars and fresh bruises. 

Remus felt his own tears stinging, threatening to spill over. His father was holding him too tight, he couldn’t breathe. He bit back the urge to say anything at all. He didn’t know if his voice would come out right, if it would only make his father cry harder. 

_ We can't return, we can only look _

_ Behind, from where we came _

_ And go round and round and round, in the circle game _

In that moment, Remus felt stronger than he ever had.

*

**_Monday, 29 May, 1972_ **

'My-er, my dad wanted you to have these.' James thrust out a stack of photographs, glassy brown eyes cast down. He drew the curtains behind him and gingerly took a seat at Remus’ bedside. His hair was messier than normal, like he’d woken up, dressed, and immediately headed for the hospital wing. He probably had, Remus decided. The sun was barely over the horizon, and classes weren’t starting for another two hours. James never woke up early, not without a very good reason. 

Remus thumbed through the photos, all taken on a wizarding camera, depicting Roscoe Lupin at various stages of life. As a teenager, in a Hogwarts uniform, lying lazily in the grass with James’ father, sunlight casting shadows of trees across their smiling faces. Again as a teeanger, grinning madly as he held up a copy of the  _ Daily Prophet _ , pointing at the small byline under a story ‘By Roscoe Lupin.’ 

He was lanky and lean, with a mop of thick brown hair that Remus was starting to see as characteristic to the Lupins. His glasses were round and thick, too big for his thin, angular face. There was a manic quality to his smile, too wide and stretching his chapped lips uncomfortably.

As a young adult, Roscoe sat in front of a suitcase that read ‘Professor R. J. Lupin’. With that same, almost unhinged grin he looked straight at the camera with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He was much thinner in this photograph and the camera did not spare the details in the dark circles beneath his eyes. 

'He was a professor?' Remus asked suddenly, wondering why that hadn’t been mentioned in the obituary.

'No…' James frowned, 'I don’t think so. I think he wanted to be or he was going to be before-you know….'

Remus didn’t know, but James looked so uncharacteristically fragile that he couldn’t bring himself to ask. 

'Are you-how are you feeling?' he asked, looking up at Remus with wet brown eyes. He’d taken off his glasses to rub the tears away, leaving them at the small table where the photos and a few of Remus’ textbooks sat. 

'I-' 

Was there a sensitive way to express the sheer complexity of the situation? There weren’t words to express the odd mixture of envy and remorse and indifference rising in Remus’ chest. 

'I’m alright, didn’t know him that well.'

'I was with him when he died.' The words tumbled out James’ mouth before he could process them. 

'You were?' Remus didn’t remember much from the day other than his father and the sinking feeling in his chest as he read Mr Potter’s letter. He vividly remembered that descent from normalcy to panic. 

'Yeah,' he said, slumping back into the chair at Remus’ bedside.

Last night’s full moon hadn’t been too bad, no real injuries beyond pulled muscles. He hadn’t been able to keep solid food down since yesterday, though, which Poppy wasn’t too pleased about. The nausea was normal, sometimes bleeding into the week before and after the moon. 

'My mum didn’t think it’d be so soon...She thought it’d be at least another month.' He spoke quickly, quiet as he brushed a tear from his cheek. 'The healer had just left and my parents were trying to sort out hospice and-and it was just me.' James’ voice cracked and Remus reached out a hand, unsure of what other sort of comfort he could offer. This wasn’t a shared grief. He had no memories of his grandfather, he had no stake in his life. 

'I didn’t know what to say. He started shaking and trying to get out of the bed and-and my dad wasn’t there. I didn’t know what to do. When he fell I just...'

'At least he wasn’t alone,' Remus offered, trying to find sympathy somewhere in the pool of anger that was consuming him. 

One year ago today, James had been in St. Mungo’s saying goodbye to his godfather, the man who’d sworn off his own family when Remus was bitten. The man who would rather have a dead grandson than have Remus. And somehow, this vile, traitorous creature had been a father figure to James? He was someone who meant something to Remus’ best friend? And where did that put Remus in regards to James? Had he looked at Remus on the train in September, and saw the face of a dead man staring back at him? Was he trying to atone for watching the old man die?

Perhaps it was now that James saw the family resemblance, with Remus stretched out on a hospital bed, gaunt and worn out. Maybe it was now that he could see the intertwining ghosts of the Lupins twist around each other, each asking too much, each with a burden they were desperate to share. 

'He was really mean,' he said after a while, putting his glasses back on. 'Especially towards the end of it. Said some horrible stuff to my mum and about-about you and your dad...but he was always so good with me, y’know?'

Remus shifted uncomfortably, wincing at the twinge of pain in his shoulder. He could tell James wasn’t really paying attention to him anymore. He was grieving, talking compulsively, letting out everything he’d probably wanted to say since he met Remus. 

'He taught me my first couple spells before I was even supposed to have a wand.' 

James smiled fondly at that, his eyes still glassy. Remus still struggled with the concept of the bittersweet. He was so young when he was bitten that he hardly remembers the time before. Things were what they were. Death was sad and grief was simple.

'And he’d always slide me his pudding under the table at Christmas.'

Remus thought about Lupin family Christmases and their melancholy quiet. Their holidays were spent in the shadow of how things used to be, of past Christmases Remus couldn’t remember.

'He... he never really came ‘round when I was younger,' Remus said finally, silently adding _ or when I was older. _

'I know. Sorry I said that.' James scratched at the back of his head, tousling the loose curls there. 'He would’ve liked you, you know. Like a lot.'

Remus’ throat went dry and his chest grew tight. These were words he’d longed to hear for so long, but he wasn’t hearing them right and he wasn’t hearing them from the right person. 

'He’d’ve thought you were really funny.' More tears spilled over James’ cheeks and Remus felt his own eyes prickling with wetness. 

'Yeah?' Remus tried to force a laugh, but it died in his throat, catching on his nervous inhale. He hadn’t wanted to know anything else about his grandfather, the man who hated him so much he lied about his death. He hadn’t wanted to see any of those photos, or hear about him, or  _ sympathise  _ with him at all. It was his choice to abandon his family, to write Remus out of his will. It was his choice and he deserved to be forgotten for it. 

'Yeah.' James wiped at the tears from under his glasses. 'He didn’t think I was very good at subtlety, either. Told me I had all the qualifications to be a proper gentleman, but none of the class. He wasn’t all that awful, though. He bought me all the  _ Cursebreaker Chronicles  _ books _.  _ Told me if I was going to go after all his “hard earned possessions like a bloody marauder,” I might as well get good at it.' He put on a haughty, gruff, old man voice at that, and Remus realised that this was the closest he would ever get to hearing his grandfather’s voice. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early summer, ‘72: A prank, a plan, and a potion.

**_Wednesday, 31 May, 1972_ **

For the most part, Remus hated being treated differently. He resented that he didn’t get to take flying lessons with the others, that everyone thought he was a serial mitcher. 

That being said, he was relieved to have an excuse not to be in History of Magic that morning. Professor Binns had said on Thursday that they would be going over the Werewolf Code of Conduct, and after that day in Defence back in September when they’d learned how to treat wounds inflicted by werewolves, Remus didn’t want to take his chances. He felt so…exposed. He couldn’t stand another instance of sitting there with his head down while the class casually discussed his right to exist. His skin crawled just thinking about it. 

Was it cowardly to hide in the hospital wing for three days after Sunday’s full moon just to avoid one class? Probably, but Remus couldn’t bring himself to listen to that voice that sounded suspiciously like James Potter in the back of his head. But then again, after Monday’s talk with James, Remus felt like he really didn’t get the opportunity to truly rest in the wake of the transformation.

Of course, now that both James and Peter knew the truth about him, things had gotten complicated. This morning, Remus had woken up to all three of his roommates staring at him. Peter, who for the most part ignored Remus when he was in the hospital wing, offered to stay with him when the other two went for lunch. The conversation that ensued was profoundly uncomfortable, as Peter didn’t seem to know what to say. Since he found out, he’d started treating Remus differently, with more and less respect. He flinched now whenever Remus moved too suddenly or spoke too loud, but he also offered to carry his books and help him down the stairs on days he looked particularly ill. Naturally, that sort of behavior only made Remus snap at him more, making Peter even more afraid of him. There was just no way to win. 

James had offered to talk to Peter about it. Remus preferred to leave things as they were, afraid of another confrontation. It was already bad enough that both James and Peter knew. There wasn't enough room or time in the dormitory where the three of them could talk without Sirius being in earshot. 

'You feeling any better?' James’ voice echoed through the corridor. Once again, he'd mitched Transfiguration to spend the afternoon with Remus in the hospital wing. This being the third day he was confined to the hospital bed, James clearly thought Remus was on the verge of death. 

'Yeah, Poppy said I can head back to the dorm whenever I want,' Remus replied cheerfully, having successfully avoided History of Magic. 

'Perfect!' He tore open the curtains, a wide grin on his face. 'Let’s go then. We’ve got planning to do!'

'Alright alright. In a minute.' James bounced on his toes as Remus stretched his way out of the cot, bones cracking with each movement. Three days of (mostly unnecessary) bedrest had taken a toll on his body. He felt stiff and groggy, a little nervous to head back to the dorm after the long weekend. Sirius was bound to say something and Peter was bound to flinch the minute he came through the door. 

'We managed to get a little bit more work done on Operation Narcissa, but admittedly, not much got done after the quidditch match,' James explained as they walked. 

Gryffindor had won against Hufflepuff over the weekend, and Remus swore he could hear the victory shouts from the afterparty all the way from the hospital wing. 

'We really ought to call it something else, you know, it’s not exactly subtle.' 

'Subtlety is overrated, Loony. This way builds suspense.' 

'Builds culpability, more like,' Remus muttered as James pushed through the portrait hole. Technically, the day’s last class was still in session. The common room was mostly empty. There were a few older students scattered about. Gideon and Saima sat opposite each other in the loveseats, quizzing each other for their upcoming O.W.Ls. Mary MacDonald, surprisingly (given that she was supposed to be in Transfiguration with them) sat by the fireplace, reading a well-worn copy of  _ Pride and Prejudice.  _

'Is Sirius still-'

'In Transfiguration?' James filled in. 'Yeah. Couldn’t tell you why but he bloody loves that class.'

'And Peter?' he asked. James briefly paused at the base of the stairwell before continuing. 

'‘Course he’s in class. Couldn’t afford not to be,' It wasn’t even a clever jab, but Remus forced an uncomfortable chuckle. He wasn’t going to risk another argument on Peter’s behalf.

They had a little under an hour before Sirius and Peter returned. If Remus and James were sensible, they would use this time to tidy up their respective areas. The floors surrounding both of their beds were a clutter of balled up parchments, chocolate wrappers and books. Their trunks were bursting. While James at least managed to keep his desk relatively clean, Remus’ was a mess of half finished essays, broken quill nibs, dried candle wax and stacks of opened textbooks. 

Peter and Sirius were much neater in comparison. Peter shared a room with his step-sisters at home, so he was used to occupying little space and keeping his things in order, lest they get stolen. Sirius, on the other hand, was raised to be orderly and aristocratic. He was compulsive in his organisation, having to know where everything was all the time. He had a House Elf at home who normally kept his things in order, but had a penchant for reporting any ‘suspicious findings’ to his mother. As such, he was meticulous and took every opportunity to berate Remus and James for their lack of organisation. 

But James was anything but sensible, and Remus secretly liked how frustrated the mess made Sirius. So instead, they discussed possible new codenames for ‘Operation Narcissa.’ 

'What about Operation Green Hair?' James suggested, staring at Remus from where he hung upside down off his bed. 

'Truly, you are a master of subtlety, Potter.'

'Ha, ha, Loony. If you’re so clever why don’t you come up with something.'

'Not gonna lie to you, this plan is stupid anyways. We really ought-'

'Ought to wait for everyone before we start planning?' Sirius frowned in the doorway, Peter hovering behind him. 

'We’re just trying to find a better codename,' Remus explained, 'seeing as you two can’t come up with anything short of the obvious.'

'That’s all details, Loony. We need to get the charm right before anything else.'

'Still think a potion’d be easier,' James muttered, throwing out this suggestion for the tenth time this week. 

'No, Loony’s incompetence aside, Slughorn would be able to sort out a remedy within the day. This has to be  _ permanent. _ ' Sirius’ tone took on a darker quality, the way it often did when he talked about Narcissa. They’d been planning this prank, or revenge rather, for the better part of a month and Sirius’ hatred of his cousin had only grown more obsessive. 

The plan was deceptively simple, and at least in Remus’ opinion, deeply unimaginative. They were trying to turn Narcissa’s hair green...permanently. Not only was a permanent colour changing spell impossible (James loved the sound of that), it didn’t begin to match the damage she had done to Sirius. Hair colour was purely cosmetic--this prank was more an attack on her vanity than anything else. Sirius had to spend a night in the hospital with two of Hogwarts most skilled professors trying to fix the spell’s damage. 

'Maybe we don’t have to spell it green forever?' Remus asked. 'I don’t think colovaria’ll last longer than breakfast, since McGonagall teaches the counter-charm to all the Fourth Years.' 

James was probably right--a potion would be easier. Perhaps not easier to make, but easier to find. If Remus had learned anything this year, it was that spells were complicated and had to be incredibly specific to work. No matter how skilled Sirius thought he was, he couldn’t just manipulate the spell to do what he wanted. Potions were equally complicated, but at least they were already written. The instructions were all there and James and Sirius had proven on multiple occasions that they hardly even needed a book to brew an effective potion. 

'Maybe there’s a potion that can change hair colour at the root…' he muttered to himself, weighing the options. 'Then we could just wait for it to grow out and it’d take so long no one would even suspect us.'

'You’re thinking like a muggle, Loony. We just need to tweak the color-changing spell to be permanent.' Sirius sighed, 'Or invent a new spell, I suppose.'

'You can’t just invent a bloody spell, Black.' James huffed.

'Yeah, even  _ you  _ can’t do  _ that. _ ' Peter echoed.

'I bloody well can and  _ will,  _ thank you very much.' Sirius pulled his legs to his chest, curling up against James’ headboard. With dark, stormy eyes he glared at the three of them. 

At the very least, and Remus meant the very  _ least _ , James should have expected this. Although, he was perhaps too preoccupied with his own need to prove his limitless abilities to pay attention to Sirius’. Meanwhile, Peter only wanted to prove that he was, in fact, a wizard, and Remus only wanted to prove that he deserved to be at Hogwarts. 

He frowned at Peter, wordlessly telling him that this was his mess to clean up. Either unbothered or immune to Sirius’ temper by now, James didn’t lift his eyes from his borrowed Fourth Year Charms book. 

'Don’t you-' Peter chimed in, loud and awkward. Sirius’ head whipped around to face him, already sneering. 'Don’t you think we ought to dye her hair red?'

'Why?' Sirius asked, but it wasn’t a question. It was an order, barked out with little intent to actually listen to the response. 

'Well, you know….' Peter looked at Remus, wide-eyed, begging for help that he wouldn’t receive. '...for Gryffindor?'

'Hmm,' Sirius pondered this, eventually nodding. 'You might have a point there, Petey.' 

As quickly as it surfaced, Sirius’ mood faded and the three of them were on their way to the library. James remained stoic for all of it, making Remus wonder if he knew the expiry date for all of Sirius’ tantrums. He wondered exactly how deep Sirius’ and James’ bond went. How many nights they’d spent whispering to each other, how many secrets and stories they held, how far the depth of understanding was.

Remus ached for that kind of closeness. To have someone know you so completely and freely. To have someone know all of your flaws, all of your secrets, and love you not in spite of, but for them. It was deceptively simple, something that most people found and would continue to find forever. But Remus’ secrets came with claws and teeth. There was an inherent danger in knowing his secrets, a danger that was already too real for too many people. James and Peter knew, of course, but they didn’t  _ know.  _ They didn’t understand. 

The type of friendship Sirius and James had was impossible. It wasn’t something tangible, no matter how feasible it seemed. Closeness like that would always linger in Remus’ periphery, always in sight but painfully out of reach. 

*

**_Friday, 10 June, 1972_ **

With the aid of the invisibility cloak and Peter’s perceived cluelessness, they managed to sneak into the restricted section of the library. 

'But just--say I wanted to get taller overnight?' Madam Pince was already on the brink of tears. 'Is there any spell for that? Professor McGonagall said a growth charm wouldn’t work...' 

'Mr Pettigrew,' she drawled, slow and bored. 'I am here to assist you in research, not to answer silly questions about your vanity.'

'Sorry, Madam Pince,' He squeaked, and, although he couldn’t see the glares the three of them were sending over through the cloak, he could sense them and his cheeks glowed red. '’m just sick of being the shortest in the House. Even all the girls are taller than me! There’s got to be something to fix it, right?''

'Mr Pettigrew, you are not the first to ask such pointless, idiotic questions. I will tell you what I tell everyone, something you should already know--magic is not a fix-all solution to everything. There are rules and limitations to its power. I’d suggest you take the time to educate yourself before you go any further in your studies.'

'Sorry...' Peter looked absolutely miserable. James tugged on the edge of the cloak, nearly pulling it off of Remus and revealing their location. 

'Get moving, Loony!' Sirius hissed. They were too close to see each other fully, but Remus rolled his eyes anyways and shuffled along slowly. James was kneeling on the floor, making the other two crouch down awkwardly as he thumbed over the spines. 

James grabbed a hold of a book gently, flicking through the pages until he came to rest on a potions recipe. Sirius made a noise of protest, but cut himself short when Pince walked right by the entrance to the Restricted section. 

'Got it!' James jumped up suddenly, nearly toppling over Sirius in the process. 

Remus took the book from James’ hand and looked through it. Sirius had been adamantly against using a potion but, apparently, even he wasn’t immune to James’ charm. The book-- _ Gloria's 101 Remedies for an Ugly Face-- _ contained a recipe that promised to change hair colour for good--all you had to do was add an item of your desired colour to the mix. With no documented remedy, it was perfect. It was nearly cruel enough to be of equal caliber of the curse she’d cast on Sirius. Of course, there wasn’t any actual physical harm coming to her, so they still had the moral high ground. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late June, ‘72: Revenge, chickens, and farewells.

**_Thursday, 22 June, 1972_ **

'You know you’re supposed to be helping us, right?' James’ glasses fogged up over the cauldron where it bubbled on the small dormitory cooker. 

'Eh, Potter, are you sure? I’ve seen the way Loony mixes potions.' Sirius scratched the back of his head, the lingering remnants of flobberworm mucus on his fingers getting caught in his hair. Peter snickered under his breath, slyly grinning at Remus. 

'I told you I wasn’t letting this get in the way of exams,' Remus muttered, pointedly ignoring Peter. 'If I don’t get this guide done-'

'Yeah, yeah, we get it.' James huffed, clearly disappointed that this was failing to be the team effort he envisioned. 'You’ll never be a marauder with that attitude, you know.'

'I’m alright with that.'

'‘Course you are,' Sirius grumbled. 'No team spirit, either of you. And you call yourselves Gryffindors.'

'I thought Hufflepuffs were the loyal ones,' said Peter, a slight frown on his face. His parchment was as blank as it had been when they started. 

'You’re one to talk, Black. At least Pete’s been to the quidditch games, which is more than you can say.'

'I don’t care for quidditch,' Sirius said, delicately slicing through a thick purple root he nicked from the Greenhouse on Thursday. That was the trickiest part of the potion--scouring the Greenhouse and the student supply room for the proper ingredients. Peter, to his credit, had used his less than perfect marks to distract Professor Sprout on more than one occasion this week. The poor woman had actually believed he was determined to improve. 

Remus had almost asked Lily for help with the potion, considering she was nearly top of the class. But the others vetoed that idea immediately with contempt. Sirius had seemed to relax in his hatred against the red-haired girl, but James more than made up for it. He’d taken to arguing with her whenever the opportunity presented itself, even when--perhaps _especially_ when he knew he was wrong. 

The two of them continued to bicker over quidditch while Remus poured over his Potions textbook. Since all practical demonstrations of his knowledge were doomed to fail, he had to focus all of his energy on the essay. He hoped Peter would help him with it as repayment for the countless charms Remus helped him master over the term, but he was too preoccupied with James and Sirius, as usual. Normally, he wouldn’t be bothered by any of this, except with the full moon only four days away, his patience wore thin. His joints already felt worn out, his head heavy and aching. He was half-hoping Poppy would let him sneak a Pepper-Up potion before his exams tomorrow, but he knew she thought it was more important to build up endurance. 

'You’re at a critical point right now, dear,' she said the previous month. 'The transformation is going to change and adapt as you get older. If you numb yourself to all the symptoms, we won’t have any frame of reference to tell whether or not this change is positive or negative.'

Remus was old enough to understand the logic, but he couldn’t come to peace with it. He was still so overwhelmed by the ease with which his friends did everything. From keeping up with classwork to falling asleep, it felt like every action came so naturally to all of them, even Peter. Remus was so exhausted all the time with some part of him always aching or sore, he couldn’t fathom how the other managed to do so much. 

'Is it supposed to do that?' Sirius’ asked, and Remus looked over in time to see a puff of pink vapor come off the cauldron. 

'Er-I hope so…'

'What’s it doing?' Peter asked. The other two crowded around the cooker and Remus watched as Peter miserably jumped up and down trying to get a look. 

'Well it’s going down now. That’s a good sign, right?'

'What’s it doing?'

'It says it should have a slightly red-ish tinge?'

'Tinge?'

'Tinge.'

'What’s it doing?'

'What d’you mean “tinge?”’

'I don’t know, it just says “tinge.”’

'What’s it doing?'

'For Godric’s sake just let him look!' Remus shouted, looking up from his essay, annoyed and completely unable to focus. Peter flinched, and looked at him with wide eyes, making Remus regret he even stood for him. 

'Er...sure thing.' James moved aside and Peter peered over the cauldron, nearly standing on his toes. 

An uneasy silence settled over the room and Remus felt his heart beat faster. He shouldn’t have raised his voice, lost his temper. That was something the others got to do, but not him. When he had a temper, he was dangerous. When he raised his voice, when he got angry with them, he was letting out something deeper. Something he couldn’t stand to be. 

'Sorry,' he mumbled. 'Just nervous about exams is all.'

'Merlin, you sound like me.' Sirius laughed, the sound cutting through the tension smoothly. 'This room isn’t big enough for two hot-heads, and I already called it.'

'It’s not big enough for both yours and James’ egos either, but you still make it work,' he countered lightly, feeling out whatever tension lingered. The other three laughed, and his outburst was seemingly forgotten. Remus was beckoned over to look at the potion and offer his own definition of tinge. The three of them crowded around, staring quizzically at the cauldron. 

'Not gonna lie to you, I don’t think it’s red enough,' Remus said. The potion, a pale, silvery pink, swirled around, slightly foaming on top. It looked a lot like it did in the book. But then, that was hand drawn possibly a hundred years ago. There was no telling what it was meant to look like. 

'What did you add in to make it red?' he asked, turning to James who was wiping off his glasses lens on Sirius’ jumper. 

'Rose petal.'

'Did you add enough?'

'It said a small amount!' James countered, before turning to Sirius, who was leaning closely over the cauldron, bewildered.

'It looks green.' 

'What are you on about, Black? That’s definitely red.'

'It’s like a red-ish pink,' Peter added, causing Sirius to stare more intently at the potion. 

'No that’s green. We have to start over.'

'Trust me, Sirius, it’s red.'

'It’s red- _ish_. More pink, though,' Remus corrected. 

'It’s a red _tinge_.' James said, glasses now perched on the top of his head as he squinted down at the cauldron. Peter’s complexion looked more green than the potion. He chewed on his fingernails nervously, eyes flicking back and forth between Sirius, the potion, and James. 

'What if it’s wrong and we kill her?' Remus and James glared at him. Sirius’ frown deepened. 

'It’s not wrong. And it won’t kill her. Worst case scenario her hair falls out.'

Remus thought that sounded pretty horrible, but Sirius relaxed at that, eventually nodding. 

Satisfied with the end result, Sirius carefully poured the thin, silvery pink liquid into a vial they’d nicked from Professor Slughorn, with James’ steady hands holding the vial in place. The plan, loosely formed as always, was that the three of them would create a diversion at dinner tomorrow. While under the invisibility cloak, James would slip the potion (supposedly tasteless) into Narcissa’s goblet. There were many uncertainties and variables. A number of ways it could go wrong. The only thing they were certain of was that they wouldn’t be caught. Remus had his doubts about that, too. He spent all night tossing and turning with intermittent headaches that were only exacerbated by his anxieties about the following day. He couldn’t help but wonder how his parents would react if he got in trouble for this. 

*

**_Friday, 23 June, 1972_ **

The full moon drew near. Remus was already feeling the effects of it earlier and stronger than he ever had before. His head pounded all through his exams. Peter had to drag him out of nearly every classroom, murmuring that the exam was over and the other two were already outside. They bounced with excitement all day, giddily whispering about their revenge plan. 

It was strange. The day before, Remus felt confident in the plan, assuring Sirius that it would be fine. But today, perhaps in a bout of pre-transformation paranoia, all he could think about were the infinite ways that it could go wrong. 

Professor Slughorn’s voice echoed through his head, warning him of all the dangers of improperly brewed potions. But James and Sirius _were_ brilliant, for all their arrogance. They had yet to mis-brew a potion in class, and there was no reason this should be any different. 

Still, Remus’ heart thumped rapidly as they sat down for dinner. His chest felt heavy, laboured with every breath. His brow was beaded with sweat. His nerves mirrored Peter’s, who kept glancing back and forth between his friends and the Slytherin table. 

'It is with great pleasure that I congratulate you all on another year at Hogwarts!' Dumbledore’s cheerful voice boomed across the hall and a hundred eyes turned to face him. He stood at the front of the staff table, wearing long, elegant purple and gold robes that glittered and swirled in the candlelight. 

'For some of you, this marks the end of a chapter, and for others, this is only the beginning. One thing is certain, students, it is that this year was one to remember. As last year’s term came to a close, there was darkness on the horizon. Our Ministry had just declared war on an enemy that remains mostly invisible and unknown to us.'

All of the older Gryffindors sombered at this. Their heads hung low in respect or solemnity, their utensils lay dormant in their hands as they watched their Headmaster speak. Remus glanced over to the end of the table where the Fifth Years sat, where Saima’s eyes were cast down. Gideon’s eyes were on her, miserable and hopeful, but she wouldn’t look up. 

'But the year persisted--1971 came and went and we are still standing, students. We have made considerable progress in technology and the creation of new magic, born from the integration of muggle science into our society. Even on the brink of war, we remain on the edge of constant innovation, largely pioneered by our former students. So, before we carry on with the festivities, and the announcement of the winning House, I want to leave you with this: you are a generation coming of age in uncertainty. Above all, you must trust in each other, you must trust in yourself, and trust in your ability to stand up for what is right.'

Ravenclaw won the House Cup, but the victory felt subdued in the wake of the Headmaster’s speech. The moments after the speech felt dark and somber. It left Remus feeling more uneasy that he had before. Eventually, students began talking again and laughter returned to the Great Hall. The prank was still to be enacted, and Remus still had a job to do. 

James disappeared sometime during the Ravenclaws’ cheers of victory and taunts against the other Houses. The clock struck half-six, which meant it was truly time to begin. 

'Ready?' Sirius murmured from Remus’ side. He glanced over at Peter, who nodded earnestly. 

Magic made it quite easy to create a diversion. Using the one aspect of Transfiguration Peter was competent with, they transfigured about a dozen chickens under the table. 

Remus felt like the general populace of Hogwarts overreacted to the presence of chickens. It had proved an effective prank back in December and now. Back home, it seemed as though his neighbours’ chickens were always in places they shouldn't be. But at Hogwarts, girls screamed and jumped up onto the table and the professors tried to order everyone to remain calm, failing miserably. It was chaos, even as McGonagall fired rapid spells, turning the chickens back into broken quills. Once again, Dumbledore made no move to resolve the situation, simply smiling in his chair and continuing to eat his meal undisturbed.

Things calmed down eventually, but it seemed that the three of them hadn’t quite managed to evade detection. McGonagall stormed over to her House’s table, expression composed in mild annoyance. 

She dragged the three of them to her office, where Peter shook violently, on the verge of tears. Sirius, as always, was unfazed, and made a point of wandering around the office, inspecting the various knick knacks on the bookshelves. 

'Mr Black, I believe I advised you not to touch anything,' McGonagall said, closing the door behind her. 

'What’s this?' Sirius asked, holding up a strange, moving piece of translucent orange glass that wound itself around his finger like a ring. 

'That...' she tapped her wand against Sirius’ finger and the glass slithered onto it, 'is a Druidic wand charm that I asked you not to touch.'

'What’s it for?'

'Mr Black, I don’t have time for this. Take a seat.' He grumbled something before reluctantly coming to sit at Remus’ side. McGonagall looked down at them from her desk, intimidating as ever.

'I imagine you must think yourselves very clever for waiting until after final points were added to engage in such...shenanigans.' She made a sour face, as though the very word was out of place in her mouth. 'However, as I’m sure Mr Pettigrew can inform you, I have no issue with assigning detentions after holidays. One month for each of you, as this silly transgression indicates that the similar...incident with the Slytherin dormitories in December was your doing.'

Remus bit back the urge to protest. He was already endangering his place at the school by participating in the pranks, it certainly wouldn’t help to argue with his Head of House. But, that was hardly any proof and-

'You don’t know that that was us!' Sirius countered, his voice smooth and diplomatic. His features were coached into what Remus now recognised as trademark Black family callousness. 'We only learned the Avifors spell in January.'

It was true. In the nights leading up to the prank, Remus and James had spent long hours training Peter to get the spell right. For all intents and purposes, none of them would have known that spell. James was a natural at Transfiguration and Sirius was nearly as good as him. All they had to do was read a paragraph and they could perform a spell. Remus wasn’t terrible by any means, he only lacked the practice awarded to them by their magical households. He figured out the spell easily enough, and he was the one who had to find a spell that seemed manageable enough for Peter. There was no way they were going to leave him out, especially since Remus knew what that felt like. 

'If I remember, the four of you, including Mr Potter, managed the spell within the first ten minutes of class,' she said dryly. Her green eyes looked indifferent through the thick lenses of her glasses. Remus thought he saw a flicker of amusement pass her face. 

'We’re just fast learners,' Sirius grinned cheekily. He even had the audacity to wink at Remus. He pointedly ignored the gesture and glanced over at Peter. Poor Peter, whose eyes were glassy and hands were trembling frantically. 

'Really?' she said, but it didn’t sound like a question. 'And Mr Pettigrew, I assume, suffered a stroke of prodigy that one day?'

The younger boy nodded vigorously, thick brassy gold hair bouncing wildly with the movement. 

'I see.' She leaned back in her chair. 'Well, surely I can’t argue with that logic. I suppose there is the question of how you managed to get into the Slytherin Dungeons undetected. Unless, of course, you were able to transfigure the pillows _before_ the House Elves delivered them to the dormitories.'

She stared at them with calculated amusement. She knew she had them cornered and would enjoy every minute she had to watch them squirm. Well, watch Remus and Peter squirm. Sirius remained stoic as ever, harsh blue eyes meeting the professor’s gaze. Remus did his best to seem similarly nonchalant, focusing his efforts on steadying his own shaky hands. 

Peter was going to ruin this for all of them, wasn’t he? Wordlessly, both Remus and Sirius watched him out of the corners of their eyes. He was clasping his hands so tightly, his chubby fingers were turning red. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he mumbled something. 

'Do speak up, Mr Pettigrew.'

'Sorry, Professor.' He looked up shyly and Remus risked a glance at Sirius. His eyebrows raised just slightly, a gesture Remus took to mean as _‘I’ve got no clue, either.’_

'I just-um. Well, this might sound stupid, but you know I grew up with muggles and um-'

'Out with it.' McGonagall looked not only deeply bored, but deeply offended by Peter’s stammering. 

'I don’t know what a house elf is and I’m too scared to ask.' He let the words out in a single breath, not lifting his eyes from the ground. 

It was...believable. It was strangely, strangely believable. Peter looked over at the two of them, ashamed. Professor McGonagall just looked weary, gazing upon Peter with resignation and pity. 

She told him to pay more attention in History of Magic, but let them off with one week of detention and five points off each. 

Sirius frowned, 'Wait, does that mean-' 

'Gryffindor will be starting off the next school year with negative fifty points Mr Black, thanks to both you and Mr Prewett’s actions.'

'Mr Prewett…' Peter frowned. 'You mean Gideon?'

'Yes,' she sighed miserably, having had enough of the three of them for one night. 

She ordered them back to their dormitories, declining to give any insight into what Gideon, an avid rule follower and exemplary prefect, had done to lose them thirty-five points. 

Remus lingered in the office a little longer than the others, telling them he’d be out in a minute.

'Yes, Mr Lupin?' She closed the door softly, and faced him with gentler eyes than she had in the past hour. 

'I-er-I know what we did tonight was really stupid and-and immature.' He looked at the ground, trying not to make the gravity of his embarrassment and fear evident. 'And I know you don’t like apologies for this sort of thing but I just-I feel sort of like I’ve betrayed yours and Dumbledore’s trust. And I’m sorry about that.'

There were risks to Remus participating in these pranks, no matter how much fun they were and how good he was at planning them and how right it felt to be in the middle of the chaos. If the others screwed up, they got detention or lost points. Their enrollment wasn’t on the line because their enrollment was guaranteed from birth and his wasn’t. It was a privilege to attend Hogwarts, to learn magic, and it was a privilege he had to earn. 

'You are quite young, Remus.' McGonagall strode over to him from the doorway, speaking in a much softer, uncharacteristically sympathetic voice.

'I don’t expect you to fully understand the gravity of your actions, but surely you must know that such childish behavior is expected of students.'

Remus gaped at her, speechless. She had essentially just told him that he’d done nothing wrong. 

'But can’t you expel me for breaking the rules? Since I’m- or rather my place here is-'

'Mr Lupin!' she snapped, eyes hardening. 'I don’t where you picked up this ridiculous notion that your place at this school is somehow different than any other students. We have made accommodations for you to be here, because this is where you belong. 

'That which warrants expulsion from Hogwarts are extremely dire circumstances, in which not only school rules but Ministry laws are broken. The rules are not different for you because of your lycanthropy. You have just as much right to be here as anyone. And if anyone, _anyone_ dares to suggest otherwise, they are to report to me,’ she huffed before smoothing out her robes and adding quietly, ‘and Headmaster Dumbledore, of course.'

'Oh.' Something tight wound itself around Remus’ chest. Tears stung at his eyes, and he had to leave immediately. He wasn’t going to start sobbing in front of an adult for the second time this year. 

'Thank you,' he choked out, before nodding curtly and scurrying out the door. He joined Peter and Sirius outside and they walked up to the Tower, like they always did. But it was hard to pretend that everything was the same after hearing that. After hearing the very things he’d longed to hear all year. He felt freer than he ever had, untethered and weightless. He felt invincible.

*

That night, James told them that nothing had happened. Narcissa drank the goblet with the potion, and nothing happened for the duration of the feast. This prompted a full-blown Sirius sulk, complete with hostile remarks towards anyone who tried to cheer him up. 

Eventually, Gideon came into the dormitory to ask them what had happened. Sirius stopped brooding almost immediately after the older boy walked into the room, eyeing him with the same concern and fascination that Remus did. Gideon’s hair was disheveled, like he’d been running his hands through like James did. His eyes were red and puffy. His posture sloped and his mouth curled into a stern frown. 

'How does a prefect even lose points?' James asked, completely oblivious to Gideon’s haggard state, still riding the adrenaline from earlier in the night. 

'I don’t think you’re in any position to critique someone else for losing us points, Potter. You four might have single-handedly cost us the cup this year.' He looked over at Remus conspicuously, 'Yes, even you, Lupin.'

Remus blushed furiously, averting his gaze out the window, where the gibbous moon mocked him in an even crueler manner. James pressed even further, begging to know what Gideon had done to lose points. 

'Good Godric, James, it’s not the big of a deal. Longbottom and I tried to prank the Ravenclaws and I got my brother-I got him in a bit of trouble. We weren’t thinking. It was a stupid idea and now we’re at negative points for next term. That’s all.'

This settled the four of them down. They immediately quieted at the stern, raw quality of the older boy’s voice, the sudden rise in volume and rage. They didn’t know what to say or what to do in response to that. 

‘Merlin, fuck I’m sorry,’ he said and they all flinched again because Gideon never swore in front of them. In fact, last month he’d taken points when Saima swore at Sirius. ‘I’m just...just worried about the...points.’

He straightened his posture then and ran a hand through his thick hair, forcing a joking smile as he looked down at them.

'Seriously, you four, you aren’t costing us the Cup again next year. Gryffindor’s only won once in my time here, and I am not about to lose to my brother again, okay? You better ace that quidditch tryout next term, Potter, and Black, you better bring your best behavior, unless you want to lose to _your_ brother.'

Sirius mumbled something about how Regulus might be sorted into Gryffindor next year, and Gideon only offered a sad smile in return.

'No promises,' James said with a grin, easily dissolving the tension. 'We’re marauders first, and Gryffindors second.'

'Not if you want to be a Chaser as a Second Year.'

With that, Gideon bid them all goodnight. He said he’d see them all the next morning to lead them to the station, if they could last that long without getting in trouble. This time they all chanted back in a chorus, 'No promises!'

*

**_Saturday, 24 June, 1972_ **

In a way, they _had_ poisoned Narcissa Black. They had slipped a cosmetic potion from the 1800s into her goblet without her knowledge and hoped for the best. Of course, they only meant to turn her hair red. They had no way of knowing what the potion would _actually_ do, and perhaps that was also a lack of foresight on their part. 

Apparently, the majority of cosmetic potions and spells published in non-Ministry approved publications contained highly falsified claims with no basis in reality. Additionally, many of these potions and spells were incredibly dangerous, as they were not tested or subjected to Ministry standards. 

So really, none of them should have been surprised to see Narcissa come to breakfast with odd chunks of silvery grey and white hair. Her eyes were red and glassy, and the pointed witch hat she wore did not do enough to hide the potion’s damage. She was volatile, firing off hexes at anyone who dared stare at her even a moment too long. 

Even Peeves avoided her, although he did linger at the Gryffindor table during breakfast to cryptically congratulate the four of them on a job well done.

'Nothing like some good ol’ family entertainment, right Black?' He smiled and tousled Sirius’ hair before disappearing until they saw him next term. 

Narcissa was given a wide berth as she boarded the train, and the four of them nearly had a heart attack when she stuck her head into their compartment. Remus sensed their collective fear, a chorus of rapid heartbeats thrumming erratically in his ears. His headache had swelled into a migraine overnight, and the chaos of this morning was doing nothing to help. Besides, there was also the deep-seeded dread of having to transform in the cellar for the next three full moons with no pain potions, and no way to mend broken bones beyond time. 

Narcissa’s entire face was puffy from crying, but it did nothing to diminish the fear value of her vicious sneer, or the bite of her tone as she spoke to Sirius.

'Sirius, if you say anything about this to your father, and I mean _anything_ you muggle-loving traitor, I will tell your mother _exactly_ what sorts of friends you’ve been making this year.' 

She slammed the door shut without waiting for a response, leaving a tense silence in their compartment. Peter’s eyes were wide with shock, or fear, or something in between. James looked as though he were trying to decide how he should feel about the matter, likely waiting for Sirius to give some indication. Remus kept his head pressed against the window glass, trying to subdue the pain in his shoulders and head. Madam Pomfrey had given him a small, handsewn medical notebook to document his symptoms in the days leading up to the moon, what he remembered of the transformation, and his injuries the following day. They all had summer homework, but this was the thing that Remus dreaded writing the most. It was easier to ignore the pain, if he could. 

'I was hoping it would be red,' Sirius said slowly across the compartment at James’ side. 'But she does look like our great aunt which might be even better.'

Then the other three laughed and Remus thought about joining in, but decided against it. He felt guilty about the whole thing. Narcissa might be rude and sadistic at times, but he still wasn’t prepared to see her cry. He wasn’t prepared to see her laughed at by her own friends and too ashamed to want her own family to see her like this. 

Remus knew what it was like to be embarrassed by your own body. His collar was always buttoned tight, his sleeves always unrolled with the cuffs buttoned at the wrist. He changed in the bathroom everyday, and nothing terrified him more than the thought of his friends seeing his scars. He joked about the injuries with James, and Peter knew, he supposed, but it was something different to actually see it. A broken ankle wasn’t comparable to a werewolf scratch, or God forbid they ever see it, a bite. 

He pretended to sleep on the entire ride to King’s Cross, but had to drop the act in order to accept James’ offering of chocolate bars and Peter’s donated chocolate frog to get him through the summer. Sirius seemed confused by this, jokingly asking where his end-of-year present was. Eventually, the four of them made a loose plan for the summer, since Sirius was allowed one visit to the Potters’, and James was confident his father could convince Remus’ dad. Peter would be able to make it if he could find transport, to which Sirius rather ominously promised to introduce his fellow Londoner to something called the “Floo”.

At Platform 9 ¾, Lyall Lupin waited beside the Potters, nervously chattering with a tight smile. He waved at Remus as they stumbled out of the train, pushed by the crowd of older students eager to start their summers. 

The four of them hugged each other tightly on the platform before going their separate ways. Peter crossed into King’s Cross immediately afterwards, as there was no one waiting for him. Sirius looked as though he wished no one were waiting for him. He trudged along miserably to where his mother stood in long, velvet green robes. Her dark hair was bound in an intricate plait which swung lightly as she held Regulus back from running to meet his older brother. 

Sirius looked back at them once more with a grim smile before the three of them Apparated out of the station. James looked forlorn, staring at the spot where his best friend stood moments earlier. He was uncharacteristically quiet as their parents chatted with the two of them as they walked over to King’s Cross. He hugged Remus one last time and promised to see him soon before the Potters, too, Apparated away. 

This time the drive felt even longer than Remus remembered. An indiscernible amount of time passed as he looked upon the changing landscape, watching as the dull greys of the city faded into the lush greens of the country. 

In the seat behind him, Bert Jansch slept peacefully in his cage. Admittedly, Remus hadn’t written too many more letters to his parents since he’d gotten the owl. He felt a little guilty for it, but his father hadn’t brought it up. As such, Bert had developed quite a penchant for napping and lazing about, seeing as Remus only needed him once a month at the very most. 

He drifted in and out of sleep, when the pain would let him. At some point, his father had laid his blazer over him and Remus curled up into it. It smelled of smoke and bitter coffee, but it was a familiar scent that gave him comfort. Every now and then, Lyall laid a gentle hand against his forehead, checking for signs of fever, or perhaps life in general. 

When Remus woke up, the sun was behind them at long last. The endless rolling hills and road signs began to seem familiar, and it finally sunk in that he was going home. After the most eventful, arguably the most important year of his life, he was going back home to the same cottage. Everything was different, but still materially the same. It was shocking how familiar it all was. He felt so different, yet the country remained unchanged.

He was still feeling ill before the full moon, albeit this time in a Hogwarts jumper. His grandad was still dead and his father still stared out the windscreen with an absent focus. They were still going home, where Remus would stay the next two months. There was no telling what the next three transformations held in store for him, with only a few potions Poppy sent him home with. 

There was no telling when he would see James or Sirius or Peter again, if it would have to wait until September. He already felt their absence acutely. He missed their laughter, the mischievous glint in James’ eyes, Sirius’ knowing looks, Peter’s giddiness. He missed hearing Lily’s thoughts, and their quiet corner of the common room. He missed all of it--the hearth that was Gryffindor House and the way he’d managed to build his own family there. He couldn’t believe a year had already come and gone, the time passed through the four of them like wind. He couldn’t help but feel as though he didn’t savor it enough, now that he had to return to his parents and the loneliness of the Lupin cottage, the loneliness of the countryside, of Wales.

He reached for the sweets in his bag, the only physical reminders that he had seen his friends mere hours ago. The chocolate frog Peter gave him held Godric Gryffindor’s card inside, something Remus had no choice but to take as a good omen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos/Comments always make my day!
> 
> Special thanks to my girlfriend for proofreading this after asking who Remus Lupin was. 
> 
> Volume Two is currently done and in the editing process. Most likely to be published sometime in May.  
> <3


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